Making Do

It is perhaps the best time in Texas. A springtime with the most abundant bluebonnets patches I have ever seen and the pink evening primrose like frosting on the hills. Their glowing light is what greets the dogs and me in the morning as we move among the overgrown pastures of home lots that will never sell. It returns to what it was as all things do. I have been enjoying the earlier morning routine – seeing dawn instead of stumbling out into blinding day. And the dogs prefer that cool air to the later heat.

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This morning we moved with a slower pace, having read about Brigid’s brother. That loss on top of Barkley – a dark spring, indeed. I was in a pensive mood and unwilling to rush this casual event. Transient, ephemeral…all things end. And as I sit here I can see a head over the fence moving now and then to a smoker, making a meal for visitors to his daughter, her cancer found too late and her 23 years far too short. But life moves on and people are hungry and you feed them as though in that act you could use your pain as salt to the stew, lessening its supply. But that cup runneth over until you get distance from the event horizon of grief.

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We know Life Goes On. It just seems quite unfair in the face of our mourning. The world ought to pause and tell us how great that loss is…but in the end it is just our soul and Something Else. A thing that no one Knows though many Believe exists. I try to not label it, figuring in the end my Acceptance will suffice.

Along with the prolific blooms comes the birdsong – as though they, too, were breeding all winter and nest spilled out song after song. I captured the early greeting, knowing it could be a rare thing before long. The world seems to teeter on the crux of collapse and I hold my breath in the hope that I won’t be the one to shift the balance. But I feel compelled to action like a mother near birth. Clean, clear, pack, save…annotate all you can and save it, save it all. As if those small things could mute the world tearing sound of war.

The bluebonnets coated the land in a sea of blue this spring…the land thrusting forth all the beauty it could just as the dying often glow in the few days before death. I took every chance to enjoy them, to be thankful for them, to remember that sea with its own wind driven waves. I hope that it, too, can be reborn in another spring.

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