I am up at 5:45 am, earlier than I need to be, unable to sleep. I put the kettle on, and it’s still dark out, and the little dogs don’t move. But then Atticus goes upstairs to check on Sue, waking all, since the bed is chihua territory and the snapping at his face begins. It’s a pleasant way to start your day, for sure. Sue says, Thanks, buddy. He’s now curled up asleep in a chair in the kitchen. Job done.
I woke, head reeling. I had to tell a friend terrible news about her beloved lab yesterday, and after the pathology report was laid out, there was little to say. Grief can rise like a flash flood and then stay around, sweeping everything away.
I am drinking black tea, watching the sky out the sliding glass door. The clouds are lit from behind, wispy and vertical. The colors change every minute. It’s like witnessing a dream reel. I am thinking about when I got home last night, my pups seemed all the more wonderful, but I felt bruised, their lives apt to be altogether unfairly brief.
How we love, though. And I got many usual kisses on my return home after a long work day. My sadness felt like a film covering my skin, and they licked from my face.