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23: space together

Dear Friend,

I hope that you have had a good week, and, as always, I hope that you are very well.

What have you been up to? It’s probably not appropriate for me to ask, “What are you in for?” So, I’ll just ask, what does your calendar say is next? If it’s on your calendar, then someone has planned it. Plans are cute.

We doted over some of our own plans and realized that those particular ideas, though painstakingly recorded onto our calendar, were not fulfillable ideas. So, our week didn’t go according to plan, and it was a really good week!

For the past few days, we have been enjoying a visit with a family of three people and two Labrador Retrievers. Very fun! The conversations and mealtimes have been wonderful, and it has been good to get to know this family better. We’ll be leaving this morning and we’ll miss the people, the banter, and the dogs!

Missing… the sensation of realizing that someone or something that was there before is not there now. It can be an overwhelming grief, a lingering emptiness. I don’t miss things. But missing people and creature friends is definitely something that I navigate on a daily basis. Being unhappy doesn’t do anyone any good. I do feel sad, but I’m grateful for the memories, even small fragments, of being and sharing together, and I continue to send my love to them, wherever they are – they’re somewhere.

What about you? Do you find yourself thinking of loved ones - conversations that you’ve had, times that you’ve laughed together, cried together, sat and stared into space together?

I know that this letter / blog has been all kinds of things. It isn’t “supposed to be” any ‘one-sort-of-thing,’ I just wanted to have a place to keep in touch with you. Today isn’t about our road trip or a different camping place, obviously, we had a change in plans. We’ll get back to that next week – I think. Today, I want to share two of my, very different, poems with you. Thank you for reading, your time and energy matter and YOU are extremely appreciated!

At home

In golden grasses quenched with dew,

beneath a rising mist,

awaiting the light and heat of this late July day,

two spotted fawns lie still,

hidden in the open field while their mother grazes,

just beyond the creek,

aware of us, seated at the edge of porch,

me, barefoot, cotton-tee and boxer shorts,

and my old white Labrador,

breathing cool summer morning,

lowers his body and drops to rest his chin upon my lap.


a part of me

On foot I’d walked a mountain range

to catalogue the new and strange,

mapping the land and living things -

so far, four seasons worth of change.

When I awoke in autumn dawn

I pulled my dew-soaked trousers on

and shoved my feet into my shoes

and realized my pack was gone!

“My old blue pack!” I cried a loud.

I don’t know why I chose to shout,

I was alone for miles around.

There’d be no one to help me out.

The ground beneath my sleeping mat

was dry as dry, and so I sat

upon the dirt to wait for sun

and mourned the loss of my blue pack.

That pack had been a part of me

it held my knife and my canteen

it held my flint and sewing kit,

two pencils and my diary.

A creature must have come at night

and taken it, that must be right…

“I slept!” I scolded, “Now I am through!

That old pack was worth my life!”

“I’ll die without it, that is that!”

I blamed a bear or fox or cat.

I tried to stand and had to laugh -

for there it was - still on my back!


Have a great week!

Gently Be,



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