“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


and then they were gone

leaving the lake there were drops of rain.
and then there weren't.

i remember a drought a few years ago that was not as bad as this one,
though it seemed so at the time.
i remember when the rain came
at last
at last;
we sat on my mother's covered back porch
and reveled in the sound of heaven's waking
and the coolness of the air
at last
at last,
and just like that it was over.
the drought, i mean.

it was there and then it wasn't.

like waking up from a dream.


i keep dreaming of my mother.
she is lost, always lost;
i can see her on a different road,
a curve below me winding away,
and then she is around the bend,
and i know i can never find her.
she doesn't have a phone, i tell myself,
she will have to call me.
i can't call her.
have i told you this? it seems i have;
you will have to forgive me.
but the dreams keep coming
and i never get closer -
you know the way of dreams.
i wake in the mornings sometimes breathless,
it can take hours to move past them and into my day.
but they are the only times i have with her
and one night even the dreams will leave.


august is coming, memsahib,
i see the light on the curve of the road.



  1. yes, that august light...

    i was thinking today how everything is grey green now, no longer yellow green, and i love this grey green photo.

    seeing your mom this way, in your dreams, it's a gift i think, the opposite of drought, love's rain.


  2. Yes, a gift I agree. I will never forget one night, soon after my mother passed, I had just fallen asleep in my bed and felt the foot of the bed as if someone sat down near my feet. It wasn't frightening, it was comforting, so I know it was her. Nothing like that has happened to me since. I am thankful for that moment. Beautiful post.

  3. becca. that would be absolute comfort. a soothing. thank you.

  4. i never dreamed that when i opened the comment thread that i would read about the unforeseen gifts of the dead. i always worry i'm not doing enough to show my love to people. i fear regret at the end of my days. my own mother came to me for the briefest moment soon after she died and i knew then better than any time when she was alive that she loved me unconditionally. my father never came to me after he died and i waited with anxiety hoping he would. a friend reminded me that the messages of love come at moments that can sometimes pass us by if we are looking in the wrong direction. i couldn't say for certain but i think that my dad squeezed my hand when i took his into my own for the very last time. i almost missed it, i almost forgot that it counted as love. xo

  5. Gorgeous comments here and gorgeous words. The visits are a true gift to be treasured. Often when I drive I feel my mother's presence in the passenger seat. She did love to ride in the car and to drive, but a few times she has appeared in a dream and I find her visit a gift to be treasured and thought about. Isn't life and death fascinating? Each of us has our own gifts to treasure.

  6. i believe our dead are with us often. we need only be open to their presence. if we are not, we miss them. my dead come often, mostly in dreams, but sometimes in a rush of silence i feel, sometimes just a feeling they are there. often, very often, a scent. i am always, always grateful. i have told my children and grandchildren, i will come. watch for me.
    in fondest. Tilda

  7. breathless at the thought of raindrops and dreams of a mom .. both gentle quenching gifts to receive

  8. Thank goodness for the infinite connection to those we love through dreams.

  9. The dreams won't leave. You'll always be able to meet each other there even if you can't exactly set an appointment. I always wake with sadness, yes, but gladness too when my friend Kim or the two cats of my heart, and (for some reason) my great grandmother, have visited me while I slept. ♥


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