“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

7.09.2012

love


saturday was a wedding.

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sunday was a funeral after a death on thursday.
she was 87, married 64 years when she buried her husband last fall,
burying her heart with him,
choosing her casket ahead of her time,
the palest of barely there baby girl pinks.
no somber goodbye colors for her.
she was saying hello, i think.

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i wish for saturday's bride such a love.
64 years.
my god, what a thing.

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the cemetery was hot with july and few breezes,
and my drive home was sprinkled with raindrops,
with the smell of that rain against hot asphalt,
the way rain smells in the summer, when it is just a touch on your shoulder,
when you quick turn around look behind you and it's not there,
just its perfume hanging in the air. 
just a ghost of rain.  

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11 comments:

  1. we had that ghost of rain on saturday, and that smell, exactly the way you describe it. it's been so long i'd almost forgotten it.

    yes, for the bride, 64 years. a beautiful wish.

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  2. oh so true ..the rain and the love ..touching

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  3. love and rain's soft-breathing ghost. beautiful.
    how blessed the bride. the new one, and the old one too.

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  4. There it is, all of it. 87, 64, Sunday, Saturday; all tiny points on a circle. You see beyond the points into the center of it. We meet, we sleep, we meet again; again; again...

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  5. I love your posts-so thought provoking. 64 years is such a long time and a wonderful wish for a new and hopefully long lasting happy marriage.

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  6. i can barely swallow,
    these words put together so stunning beautiful
    sort of took my breath away.
    that doesn't happen much anymore
    and i thank you:):):)
    -Jennifer

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  7. Hope and sadness wrapped up in a single weekend. I am clinging to hope today and am grateful for this reminder from you.

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  8. So evocative and lovely. 64 years is a real prize.

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  9. she joined him finally in her palest of pink casket. i am sure she rejoyced in that reunion. loved the whole thing. i always do.
    i await the smell of rain. it's been a while.
    in fondest, tilda

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  10. I don't know how you do it...your writing is magic...and awakens the senses...and brings the world to life.

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