It's been cold hereabout these last few days. A brisk 34˚F when I got up this morning. The weather folks have regularly issued frost warnings, and several nights in a row we've lit an evening fire in woodstove.
Spring has taken a decided step backwards.
Nevertheless, the chlorophyll rush continues, with the landscape turning ever greener almost by the hour. The unseasonable chill hasn't put much of a damper on the wildflowers, either. Early ephemerals are up and fading, and the second wave of blooms are coming on strong. I keep meaning to visit a favorite woodland or two and make a few photos, though so far haven't managed.
Truth is, I've not been in much of a vernal mood. I still miss Moon, my beloved outdoor-rambling companion. I'm doing okay—managing, anyway—but there's still this great big empty hole—a sad, lonely weight that drapes across my days like a dark veil. Still grieving, I guess, waiting for time to heal the rawness of her passing.
But life, as they say, goes on.
The river returned back to its normal spring pool and again sparkles like a lively moving ribbon the shade of polished jade. My yard-feeding pair of Canada geese are currently setting their nest on the island across from the cottage. The great blue heron is nabbing lots of minnows from the riffles and shallows along the gravel bar just downstream. Our tulips are blooming, and all sorts of birds are singing from the greening treetops in ebullient procreative fervor.
I just wish…well, you know what I wish.
13 comments:
Lovely pictures and lovely words. Thank you for sharing the beauty of your river and of your thoughts.
Florence
Oh I do feel for you. I had a shoulder replacement op that day and am only now catching up with blogs. Moon sounded like such a special dog and friend. They are always in your heart.
The last photo of your post says it all, Grizz. The river of life, by definition, moves relentlessly forward, always resisting our feeble efforts to capture and preserve a part of it. However, when I look at the outstretched wings of that magnificent great blue heron, defying gravity with every beat of the wing, I'm reminded that the questing heart — may I paraphrase Faulkner here — shall not only endure, but prevail. May your days of grief be as long as necessary, but no longer, and may the fine memories of Moon soon resurrect the joy that she left buried in your loving heart.
Out to Pasture/Florence…
Thank you, I'm glad you liked both. It's even less springlike here today—49˚F (the predicted high!) and cloudy, with rain to come later. Sheeesh!
Penny…
I hope you're feeling and doing okay with that shoulder surgery. I'm sure it's tough and painful. One of those things we have to endure as a means to an end. Thank you for taking the effort to write.
Moon certainly was a special dog, at least MY special dog. I've never known or been around another like her, and I don't say that lightly, from mere pride. She was quite unique. A once in a lifetime dog. And always, forever, in my heart.
George…
Well said, and well meant, I'm sure…and I appreciate and share your thoughts. And thank you.
I don't want to wallow in this emotional valley, though a sad emptiness is still pervasive, and may well endure—in a blunted or lesser degree—for the rest of my life. In spite of what a lot of family, friends, and aquaintances think, I'm pretty soft, not very good at distancing my head from my heart about some things. As a writer, it may be my greatest strength—but as a man trying to slog his way through life, it's often my greatest weakness. Though truth be told, I wouldn't change it if I could. The loss of someone you love (and to me, Moon was family, a "someone" rather than "something") cuts deep and heals slow, leaving scars. I do, even now, remember many times and our long relationship with gratefulness and joy. And maybe, like that heron in the photo, I'm at least flying…but also like that old blue fisherman, I'm pretty low, barely airborne, and flapping slow; it's going to take time to gain height.
I haven't checked your blog for a long while-sorry for your heart wrenching loss-Moon is now resting comfortably-in time there might be another dog that needs to your companionship and to hike the countryside with you.Keep yourself well.You had a great lifetime of memories with Moon.
AfromTO…
Good to hear from you. And yes, I did have many years with my beloved Moon—though not ever enough. I haven't written myself off to future dogs, but it will be awhile, and I want to be sure I can care about any dog for itself and not resent it because it isn't—and can never be—Moon.
I'm pretty good, otherwise. Hope you're the same…and I trust you're working well, painting in your inimitable style.
Yep, I sure do know what you mean.
I depend on your words and photos as I now have to/get to live in this nursing home. I am not mentally deficient or age related daft, but that is the standard level of treatment everyone gets here. It is a struggle to get outside, and this facility is located in an older, run down part of town. No streams, no sunsets, often no breeze, no wildlife - all of the things of nature that I used to love just outside of my own home. If anyone brings a dog, a lesh is employed, and they barely stay five minutes.
I get a lot of pleasure from reading your blog. No one around here understands why I am so blue. No matter what I tell them, they don't understand.
If you grow weary of writing for yourself, know that you always end up writing for me. I sure appreciate your posts.
Thanks.
John
John…
I'm at a loss for words. Your comments have humbled me almost to the point of tears. I know your situation, and am truly so very sorry you now have to face such an ordeal. It's bad enough to have the disease. But your plight has been made doubly worse by yanking you from the world you love, which could daily feed and strengthen you spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually—and instead caused you to be incarcerated in a facility that's like an antechamber to the abyss. From paradise to perdition for an outdoorsman. I understand and agree because I'd be just as miserable and unable to cope.
I certainly can't do some of the things I did in my earlier days. I miss that terribly sometimes. But I can still do a lot. However, it's the daily small doses of nature, those little vignettes I regularly see out my window, that do so much to sustain me. They make all the difference when I'm sick or stuck inside. So better than most, I really do understand.
There are times when I do wonder about this blog, question why I do it, consider packing it in. I love to write, and to an extent, I think every writer writes for themselves. At least those who aren't pure mercenaries. Yet I don't write out of ego—I've had too many stories and photos published over the years to be thrilled by the process. I simply like to share my love of nature and any small outdoor adventures…also my thoughts and beliefs, whims and fears, and—I sincerely hope—my joy and wonder of life. I just have to trust that a few folks want to read the thing.
But I've been slacking lately. No question. Not because I've changed my mind about sharing or lost any of my love for nature and trying to makes interesting photos, but simply because I'm lazy, and feeling, um, under-inspired. Your words have gone a long way to change that for me—and I appreciate it more than you might imagine. And I make you this promise: I'll keep writing. I may have to drag myself to my computer to do so sometime—and there's probably no hope I'll become so regular as to post daily—but I'll write and photograph and post to Riverdaze. And if I start to slack off again, yank my chain and remind me that I have a reader who needs his outdoor fix. Fair enough?
Deal, with tears in my eyes.
HI GRIZZ - beautiful images and words of live on the river. I feel Moon in every word as you recall each moment you shared. Glorious and heart breaking all at once. I feel your heart.
Love Gail
peace.....
Gail…
Thank you—as always I appreciate your nice words. And yes, my dear Moon is indeed in my words, because she remains in my thoughts. I miss her. Life is very bittersweet at times.
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