I had a new home in my remembering
and it was dark and safe and beautiful
with shooting stars still falling all around.
My daughter left Sunday morning and the rest of the day was strange. Monte called it a re-set, and I think of it as a bridge, but it was a day of lull and transition, and now it’s just the two of us again. The last week was a whirlwind that included a reunion of relatives, a retirement party for a dear friend, and a beach wedding at which I was stung (several times!) by a wasp.
And suddenly the good-bye arrived, and I lay awake last night distracted by the itching and ouch of the wasp stings and the old twinge in my heart. An absence briefly filled has now resumed, and it’s time to get used to that all over again.
I’ll be fine. Hell-bent on seeing shooting stars, I made a palette of blankets for myself on the deck and have been staring at the sky. “Wanna come outside and watch shooting stars with me?” I asked Monte earlier. “Oh yes,” he said. “I’ll be with you in spirit.”
So the stars are glinting bright above the hills, the Milky Way is a swathe of chalky light, and shadowy treetops are dancing in the wind. Now and then a meteor streaks across the heavens, gone in an instant.