Reprieve

For the way loneliness is worse when you return to it after a reprieve — like the soul’s version of putting on a wet bathing suit, clammy and miserable.― Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bone

Sing Anyway

The woods would be quiet if no bird sang but the one that sang best. ― Henry van Dyke

(This lovely wild turkey was spotted over the weekend

at the Coronado National Memorial in Arizona.)

An End, Not A Death

“If I could not walk far and fast, I think I should just explode and perish.” ― Charles Dickens

When Herself walks alone, she can Think, and Process Stuff, and Work Through Things, and other such (cliché but important) activities. Where she walks is not as important as when she walks.  Every day, if at all possible, she tries to squeeze in a little bit of walking.  Even being on vacation is not an exception; while Herself was away in Tombstone, AZ, this past weekend, she took advantage of the early morning hours before the sun was too high to take a walk around the RV park where they were staying.

Herself had sent her farewell e-mail to her colleagues on Friday as she resigned from her telecommuting position, and the final closing of that door was surprisingly heartrending.  She knew it would be sad, certainly, but for it to be SO sorrowful was unexpected.  The long drive from home to Arizona barely dulled the grief.  She couldn't even face socializing with her friends Friday evening -- an unheard-of state of affairs -- and retired early to be alone with her heartache.

When she woke up Saturday morning, she walked.  And walking was not enough.  So she jogged here and there, and ran a tiny bit, too.  If only she could move fast enough to leave the sorrow behind for just a while.

She could not.  Still, the walking helped.

While she walked, she thought about how a year ago in the same RV park, she had ottoman-shaped dog and ancient and decrepit dog with her.  Now they are both gone.  And she thought about how a year ago in the same RV park, she had her job.  Now it is gone, too.  It's not a death in the same way as the passing of her canines, but it is, in its own way, very much its own sort of demise.

She wondered idly whether in the future she would associate Tombstone with sadness, since the sentiment seems to be so pervasive there for her.  It seems somehow appropriate for a town named such.

The past  nine months have been absolutely replete with goodbyes. As long as she keeps walking, though, she will get through them all.

Uncaged Bird

Godspeed, Dr. Angelou.  Thank you for all of your words.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

By the River

While away this weekend, we investigated a riverbed which held a bit of water - enough to support water bugs, aquatic spiders, and (as you can see in the up-close-and-personal photograph) crayfish. Fascinating.

We do like to explore.

Back

We went away for the weekend, for what is becoming a traditional Memorial Day event -- Wyatt Earp Days in Tombstone, AZ.  We'll provide details once we've finished with the Giant Mountain of vacation laundry and the downloading of photographs and the catching-up-with-e-mail and such. We enjoyed being away, but we are glad to be back.  The best part of returning is having Tiny Dog (who spent an exciting and exhausting weekend with her grandparents) with us once more.  Such a minuscule scrap of life is the Tiny Dog -- and yet, her soft fur and her enthusiasm and her fiercely protective loyalty are so very soothing.  There will be a Tiny Dog-shaped space in our hearts, always.

Traveling

We shall be back soon!