My love, It seems I have known you forever.
I smile as I imagine that I can read your thoughts.
Who else could pick that special jewelry,
Your favorite color or dessert,
The outfit you would pick from your closet,
to catch a second glances at an important party?
Would it be daffodils or autumn leaves,
Soaring mountains or the roar of waves,
that made your heart leap in joy?
There is but one thing I am desperate for,
My love, that you have kept secret.
So please give me, finally-man of my dreams,
a glimpse inside your inner soul.
I saw her struggling on a spiderweb on my son’s grave. Many times, I have seen Black Widow spiders there many times. Since I study spiders, I took it as a message, “I’m, here, Mom, I love you.” Now a butterfly was caught in a Black Widow’s web. I study Butterflies too. This must be a message,
Quickly, I released the Black Swallowtail butterfly from the web. I had to work to untangle the stiff web from her leg without hurting her. I wonder if she knew that I had saved her. I wonder what the Black Widow was trying to tell me, catching one of my favorite creatures for her “dinner”.
My heart, already damaged was beating hard. I was shaking. I had to kill the spider, I had no choice. What was going to happen? Was it good, at least for me, or bad-perhaps for someone else. I took a moment to recover. It isn’t easy to get up with a metal hip. I have to get into a position which is rather like a baby starting to crawl, find something to lean on-to help me rise up. My sons black obsidian grave stone.
“What’s wrong?” my son ask when I stumbled in the door, tears running down my cheek.
“I don’t know.” I mumbled. But something is.
All I can do now is wait for the Butterfly and black widow to reveal their message.
Eight year old Tommy stuck his hand beneath the surface of the muck in the shallow pond. He ran the cool, squishy mud between his chubby fingers, delighted with its consistency, smoothness, even the lovely (for an eight year old) color of dirt.
Suddenly, he felt something hard amidst his hand full of mud. He clenched his fist tightly and brought the mud to the surface. Running his hand through the mud, sifting out the dirt, his eyes opened wide.
“This looks like the molar my brother Joe lost last week.” He thought.
According to an old paper tucked in Uncle dale’s dresser, it wasn’t Joe’s. Or where the rest of the body was.