No two hands guided it's spring.
Garden's cat dying.
Between the overwet early spring, followed by an arid and persistent heat of summer, and my own broken wrist hindering effective digging and weeding, the garden survived, in a wild way. So little time spent out there, as we used to as Moby basked and explored through the summer, I wasn't watching closely. A half hearted and painful summer, and the dead autumn ends the effort. Right now, the ground holds grief. A winter to settle and heal. Spring will come again.
I did so little, enough to hold back the entropy a bit, and it feels so inadequate and idle. A broken season. I drop my hands in resignation. What else could I have done?
Feeling a bit worn and fragile.
Maybe I'll be able to take Zeppo out next spring, if I feel confident by then.
Two cats on the bed this morning, Eleanor on top of me, Zeppo at my elbow. I started to pet Eleanor, two hands, nose to tail, which she loves, and Zeppo started purring loudly, sharing her pleasure. When he shifted to where I could pet him as well, I rubbed both cat's heads.
via bored panda
My joints have been stiff and achy, both cats seem to want to help.
All Souls Day.
5 comments:
The phrase, "...the ground holds grief..." went straight to my heart, struck the spot where my grief hides and opened the door so some of it could escape.
I am deeply grateful for that this morning.
Crow,
I think that is what this time of year is best at. Facing our horror and loss, letting it brush past us as it rushes out the door. I am deeply grateful for your friendship over the years, your kind insights, your listening ears.
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We are infinite in aspiration and limited in execution. And gardening offers another opportunity try again, and again...
Just imagining your cats purring is making my heart rate slow a little. I am glad I have a little mobster to purr on my lap every day.
Nimble,
Let's try again next spring, then.
Glad you have a purr-cat too.
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