Thursday June 28, 2018
I know how the story ends, or at least I pretend that I do. Cello music plays. The lake is like glass. It’s dusk.
Getting lost in the dark is my favourite part. What’s yours?
Solo piano on the record player.
I know how the story ends.
Closing my eyes and seeing the night sky, seeing Jupiter, the full moon, Orion’s Belt.
A loon calls.
Where do we put our grief down when we’ve taken it far enough?
Hurl it into the water and watch as it floats on the surface and then sinks?
Bury it amongst the pines?
Hope that someone, a stranger, might tap me on the shoulder and say, “Would you like me to carry that for you for awhile?”