Lughnasa and the Michaelmas Moon
Wednesday gratefuls: Shirley Waste. Mountain roads. The Rock, visible and hidden. Up and down. The first golden Aspen. Rich Levine. A sweet man. And, Abraham Lincoln, a sweet dog, getting old. Wills and trusts. A legacy gift to CBE. Day and Night. Stars. Moon. Sun. Vastieness of the Universe. The whatever it is in a Tarot deck. Torah. Yom Kippur.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Dan’s honey. Rich’s magical beekeeping.
Tarot: Prince of Cups, Druid. Seeker of Visions, Forest of Enchantment
Driving Mountain roads. Everyday. Unremarkable as an activity, though beautiful and romantic at turns. Nothing presages danger. Going up toward Brook Forest Inn, toward home from Evergreen, Brook Forest Drive makes a sharp left hand turn over a culvert carrying Maxwell Creek on toward Bear Creek.
Making this turn yesterday, as I’ve done numerous times, I looked to the left for a car coming down the hill. And, wham! A Deer had come from the right, bounded out in front of me, and I clipped her. She disappeared into the woods. Turning around, I looked for her. Was She up the Mountain side? Did She go down the Creek? I couldn’t see her anywhere.
My heart beat sadly as I negotiated a second Y turn. We’ve moved into their world. Paying attention for wildlife is a joy, a bonus of life in a National Forest. It pains me that I hit this innocent creature, even if I did little damage. If I did more, I’m so, so sorry.
I was going a little fast, not unusual for those of us that travel these roads routinely, and I do scan the roadsides for Elk, Mule Deer, Fox, any Animal. But I missed her, intent on making it round the curve. And, I was on the road in the first place, one she had to cross to get a drink, find more grass, return to her children, or her herd.
Not how I want to be here.
On my way back from Evergreen, seeing Rich Levine, being a responsible adult. Ensuring that Seoah gets Joe’s share of the estate if Joseph should predecease her. That the dogs have resources if I die before they do. That this blog can stay up for at least ten years after I die in case the grandkids or sons want to do something with it. (which Rich expanded to included all of my creative work. He knows me well.) Leaving a legacy gift to CBE. Legal stuff. Will and trust matters.
Today I’m going to settle the title and registration issues, get the title for Ruby in my name. Tomorrow, on my way to check in with Amy at Mile High Hearing, I’m going to drop off a death certificate at the Lakewood Social Security office. They never asked for it. I’m just dotting and crossing. I do want those Social Security checks to start flowing again.
Most of the post-Kate’s death administrative issues are complete. This is, as far as I know, the last of it. There is still more pruning to do, not a lot, but some. Jon, Ruth, and Gabe started moving stuff from Kate’s sewing room. The living room still has some clutter occasioned by storing Kate’s feeding liquids and other medical supplies. Some items on the bookshelves in the bedroom.
Six months have passed since Kate’s death. Sunday, the 12th. Six months. As it does, life has gone on without her. It seems cruel, the indifference of the world. Yet hardly any soul leaves the physical world with much impact, if any, on the ongoingness of it. Except in hearts, close hearts. Which cry and wail and thrash. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.
And even that calms. Slows. Becomes less intense. Then flares. Subsides. Creeps back in at the sight of a flower, a needle on the floor, a certain angle of sunlight. A sigh. A tear might push out. The heart slow a bit. Gone. She’s gone. But in no way forgotten.
As the tarot has suggested, I feel an inner tide beginning to turn. It will sweep the beach of my grief, take most of it, the shards of glass and exhausted sorrows back to the world ocean of my own soul. On this beach, as long I last, I can build new sandcastles, greet new beachgoers. Then, the tide will sweep back in again and carry me out with it. Life. Death. Mystery.