It is brisk-walk-clear-head
time of the morning.
The sun: ringed in haze.
The breeze: tangible.
The earth: gray leaning green.
My steps are quick. Thoughts,
quicker.
Writing in my head.
Hawks circle and chase, black
against blue.
Fickle finch flutters from nobby
branch to soon-to-bud bough.
Neighboring homes - windows shut,
doors closed - tell of children off at
school, and winter still expected.
She passes. Slows her van, and
waves.
I shout. Run to catch up.
Meant to call her last week and say,
"It's way past time for our seasonal lunch!"
A personal invitation will be so
much nicer.
She looks tired. I don't see shaken.
Her smile is bright. I don't see
strained.
She asks my story. Kids. Colleges?
Sports. Jobs? Three minutes of info,
then I inquire about her.
I see hesitation.
Words are spoken. I hear all of
them.
I remember four.
Pet. Scan. Stage. Four.
I am grateful for sunglasses. I will
not cry in front of this just-celebrated-eighty-years-magnificent woman.
She is Pioneer. Educator. Wife.
Cyclist. Warrior. Mom. Builder. Activist. Friend. Grandmother. Humorist.
Tribal Elder.
Unique. Extraordinary.
Irreplaceable.
Lunch will wait. For Test Results.
Plans. Protocol.
She waves goodbye.
My steps are quick. Tears, quicker.
Grappling in my heart.
Farmland ahead is dark, crumpled,
piled.
Cracked cans and bottles, plastic
bags, scattered deer carcass, punctured balls and faded pucks litter
the side of the road.
Highway -miles away - drones.
Fleas, too soon annoying, dart in
the haze of the sun.
I want to shout.
But I don't want to run
or catch up
to heartache, experience, life,
too few seasons away.
I turn, heading home. Search for a
different landscape than that which I just crossed.
The landscape of hope.
Of spring.
Of life.
The landscape I viewed before the
van slowed.
It is there.
In Sun. Breeze. Earth.
And Irreplaceable Woman.
Must write that in my head, and tuck
it in my heart.
QUING Hereby Decrees: The time, most
precious, is the time we give one another.
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