Happiness

Still missing my Henry. I think the last few years of the pandemic forced us to become each other's bestie. During the lockdown when there was nowhere to go, literally, our escape became nature, and in that beautiful confinement he and I perfectly found a together-peace no one else could puncture. Yes, he was just a dog, but not really. I would look across the yard at him--him patrolling the fence, rolling in the grass, basking in a patch hot sunlight--and we'd have a silent communication akin to a note being passed in the air. It was contentment, times one million. We woke up together, got through the long days together, and each night we'd stay out until dusk--until the fireflies stopped blinking their June patterns. I can never get that time back--a time which should have been the worst of my life. I guess it was an awakening. Do you remember how loud the birds sang that spring and summer of 2020? Like they were happy we had stopped our chaotic human things for a small moment in time? Cherubs and seraphims swum invisibly among the trees, they and the birds and all of nature formed a wordless communication as well. It was so healing, but I wouldn't wish for the pandemic or the agony it caused so many. 

That's the thing--the part where I feel guilt. But now that Henry is gone, I long for that time. I truly think nature and all the non-human, animal beings on earth are the most precious. As I write, a young rabbit nibbles grass outside the window, then a bright scarlet cardinal perched near to the glass and peeked in. Humans are fine and all, we do need to love and appreciate each other, but what would we do without the magic which surrounds us daily? Actually, what I'm trying to say is, nature makes us better. It does heal us. It is the one place we can go when the walls begin to cave in.