She Changes Everything She Touches: A Reflection on Love and Loss, part 2 by Sara Wright

part 1 was posted last week, you can read it here.

How much I like clipping by hand. Surprised by this realization I feel satisfaction rising. I was bored by this task as a child. I am delighted to meet a bevy of fat nubbly toads who appear out of the overgrown ground covers and in between sun warmed stones. Both child and ‘old woman’ feel happy that none will get mowed down by a polluting gas guzzling machine. The Peace of this Land that we belong to steals over us. Less is more. I’ll tackle the patch of bracken later, or maybe not until tomorrow. In this weather   accomplishing one simple chore a day is enough.

Well not quite. I am creating a serpentine path of fieldstone that stretches from my front door to meet the path that climbs the hill. My original intention was to have someone ‘more professional’ do the work, but they were too busy so here I am, an almost eighty-one-year-old woman, creating a mosaic out of cracked stone! ‘I am the artist’ I say, as I carry a few more irregular rocks down from the huge pile sitting in front of the garage eyeing the mosaic for the perfect fit. Illumination strikes when wind hits the stones. Blowing seeds, withered crabapple bits, pine needles and leaves into the cracks I see what is happening. Small plants like violets, creeping charlie, ground ivy, and catmint will find niches in the soil that is being created before my eyes.  Mosses will follow in the shade. Ah, Nature is going to help me craft a unique and imaginative fieldstone floor. Each time it rains the stones flatten out becoming more stable. That same feeling of satisfaction steals over me again. Vaguely I think that I may be doing something else besides laying stones in an artistic way and trusting that Nature will fill in the cracks, but I am not clear just what this might be. All I know is that it doesn’t matter how long this project takes. Process has taken precedence. This much feels just right.

When I run out of stones (it’s too hot to climb the hill again) I return to the porch to sit next to Coalie. Window gazing through the screen.  A lavender haze suddenly captures my attention. Yesterday when I checked the lilac, the buds were tightly shut.  Now branches are fluttering!

Jumping up and grabbing the camera I’m outdoors again in a flash. First one, two, then three swallowtails appear on lilac clusters that are just opening. I feel such gratitude that I didn’t miss this moment. One butterfly dips and soars over Hope’s gravestone which is situated to the left below the bush. The swallowtails must have been waiting for the heat to call forth open blossoms.  As I snap a few photos they whirl around my head and I am immersed in the sweetest lilac scent. Oh Hope, I whisper soundlessly – I love you so – remembering the day my beloved dog died…  Moments before her death Hope raised her head to mine to kiss away a flood of tear as I held her in my arms. Loving me with her last breath.

 I tenderly prepared her for burial, lay with her weeping, held her silky body close to my heart – relived the searing anguish as I surrendered her to the earth.

 When I walked out the door the following morning to feel closer to the spirit and soul of my dead dog hundreds of swallowtails were swarming around her gravestone while others sailed through the branches of the lilac – Oh! My fire dog had risen out of her beloved body, transformed – she was everywhere all around me.

Masses of butterflies flew around her grave for a week…

A ceremonial woman’s chant suddenly comes to mind. ‘She changes everything she touches, changes….’  Nature is the Weaver and all life continues in some form. Why do I keep forgetting what I know?

 A few raindrops grace a leaf or two.

  I feel profoundly thankful for Coalie’s wiggling bodily presence as she dances around me in circles. The ever-present omnipotent joy of my life. For an instant Love is all there is. Gifts. Everything is as it should be!

  I drift back into the green admiring Nature’s handiwork with sun weary eyes…. By allowing most of the land to go wild, Nature has sown pastel pink and purple flowers in what once was a cultivated garden. Fragrant blossoms are tucked in between wild columbine and the shimmering green hearts of wild ginger. The first lemon lilies are gingerly opening. I breathe in the sweet scents of rushing water and woodlands accentuated by high humidity remembering last year’s poisoned metallic air. So much to be thankful for!  How fortunate I am to have a home like this in the forest to share with creatures wild and tame.

 That night the first fireflies carried on an animated conversation while perched on my screen. These marvelous creatures love natural darkness, heat, humidity, and uncut wild grasses. Here, Nature is able to give them what they need.

From gratitude to joy to sorrow… I can’t get off this roller coaster.  Now I think of my Lucy, whose death came barely five weeks after Hope died. Two dogs dead in five weeks. How did I survive?

Fireflies gathered around Lucy’s grave those first nights… blinking gold and green.

When death comes bringing sorrow and grief if we stay present to ourselves and to our beloveds the soul is released.

 I imagine The Tree of Life gathers each dog, bird, butterfly, bee, and firefly jewel into her numinous branches… and out of leaves, trunk, and a tangle of roots New Life is Born.

S/he Changes Everything She Touches Changes…