To the ones I’ve recently lost and still hold so dear....so close.
In the days you all stayed with me, you gave me something unexpected and exquisitely special: proof that love can stretch across species, size, and silence. You became a thread back to deep feelings. I hold you all now gently, in immortal memory.
My sweet kitty, Taos Snow; my forever shadow and precious soulmate, thank you for being the rhythm of my days for so many special years. Your presence was sanctuary, your absence a profound silence that I’m still learning to live in. You live forever in my memory, and I live forever in yours. Smile.
To the little black beetle who came to me broken—I saw you. You tried, you slowly improved, and you trusted me enough to try and walk again. I wish I could’ve protected you longer, better. I mourn that I wasn't there to protect you overnight. I found the few remnants left of your vulnerable little life this morning. I had moved your healing little bed from the counter but too close to the floor. You were still unable to protect yourself. I am so deeply sorry.
The precious little fledgling sparrow whose mother had kicked you out of the nest too soon. You fell, so far down and appeared weak or hurt when I found you huddled and motionless at my front door. I made you a safe little nest for the night and the next morning found you standing at the edge of your nest, looking up, watching your siblings fly. Soon with a whisper of chirps you managed to fly off. Days later, I was thrilled to see you again perched on my balcony. You stood quietly and long time for a bird just looking out over the landscape in your puffy, fluffy fledgling hair. You looked fragile, still needing a mother to feed you. Days later you came back again only this time, no longer able to fly and using your wing to help you walk. I remember the warmth of your little body in my hand after I managed to pick you up. We spent that one very sacred, silent night together. I whispered a poem I had written for you, hoping you know and feel safe and loved. The next morning, we drove together to the NM Wildlife Center. It was comforting to watch them receive you with a good deal of dignity and kindly respect. Days later they told me your condition was neurological and that your fate was uncertain; I could call back in a few days, and again in a few weeks. The last time they said you had gotten weaker, were now suffering tremors and falling over on your side each time you tried to walk. They thought it would be best to euthanize you. I paused with the news but soon comforted with the knowing that we were together in the silence again.
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