Yesterday was not an uncommon day in the Upper Valley. The
sun shone brightly, the wind blew with a vengeance and it rained, all at once.
I had been waiting for the perfect day, but perfect days don’t
always come. I had wanted one of those blizzards when tree limbs crash to the
virgin white ground and the world is silent and full of hope. Rereading that
last sentence, I understand why perfect days don’t come. Sometimes our visions
of ideal aren’t realistic; they will never materialize. So we move on and do
what must be done.
I spread the ashes of Hazel and Claude and Ralph and Trixie
and Tillie to the wind. For the dogs, this was their home. It is what they
knew. They had to remain and be part of the world that they created. Tillie
just went along for a ride with the big boys.
Over two decades of joy and happiness, of love and pain
tossed to the gusts. They will be forever in my heart, but come on; it was time
they got off the kitchen shelf.
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