The Art of Finding Solace

In the last two weeks, I’ve buried three wild birds- a robin, a pine siskin, and a hummingbird- such a tiny, little body.  The last two were from my cat which makes it even worse.

Two dear friends were also lain to rest from this life.  One passed away unexpectedly in his sleep.  The other reached the end of an eight-year struggle with ovarian cancer.

The events in Ukraine disturb me daily.  The weather has been unusually cold and wet on top of such sorrow.

I’m hanging out with my cats more than usual. Their furry presence is soothing.  Then I find peace in my new native plant garden, every day a surprise, a new leaf, a blossom emerging, life announcing its presence in a tenuous world

.

The Biology of Loss

She is perfect.
rufus breast
her back and wings 
cloaked with feathers of burnt umber

She leaves a fledgling 
that hops about her still body
I gather it up and place it
under a dense shrub
knowing its chances are slim
to none

Was it my cat?
There are no signs
He too is perfect.
his sleek  black and white form
graceful as a panther about the yard

Two vultures circle overhead
also graceful
They descend on the body of a dead raccoon
shoved to the roadside by my neighbor’s fence
then commence to tear into its bloated form
that wears an open-mouthed grimace


I view this from my kitchen window
pick up my cat and hold him close
shut my eyes
and allow his purr to seep into my troubled places

I know that beneath the ground
unseen
the worms and microbes 
celebrate their new bounty 
their feast ultimately turning to flowers

still, I ache for all that has been lost.

images by the author