I pull into the driveway and park in your spot and purposefully turn off the radio, one of those odd, old-fashioned things you always do. Favorite days of my life are still spent here in this house, and I am often alone and content, but with the promise of your homecoming carried in my heart. And in the midst of baking bread, hanging up laundry, sweeping floors, I feel you move next to me, funny and quiet and strong. You walk in the door at night, your coat over your arm, your blue eyes shining, eager, and a bit amused. My soul knows you and greets you and holds you before our hands and arms and lips ever touch.
I wear pink and black this afternoon-pink because I like it next to my face, black because it's how I feel: dark, still, total. No stars glitter among the night-color folds of my skirt; it is flat, soft and comforting in its simplicity. The colors of me today contrast so much with the colors of the day-green-brown grass, pale gray skies, yellow and red trees. Fall is here, and the earth is sleepy, drowsing in the cloudlight, warm and alive beneath the leaves. I am like this on a day alone-immersed in fuzzy, blurred solitude, yet sharply awake to some half-hidden sense of my soul's voice.
Now this day this voice speaks quietly and clearly to me of you, dear fellow-bumpy gray sweater, patient clever hands, steady eyes full of wit and blue depth, and a shining soul that welcomes and pulls me in close and safe. I have thought for some long time about friends, what it really means to have one, how to keep one. It seems to me the most cherished offering I can make to a friend is to welcome him completely into my reality, truly believing that he is as real as I am, that when he looks out at the day, he sees what I see, and knows that I look at all of life with him/ in/ me. So in the day and in the night, you are with me close-kind, accepting, loving. And I go out into the world fearless, light, young, healed and whole.
From Well, Well, Well (transcribed by Laurie Ward)
1 comment:
I especially love this piece because it's so much about the tender, quiet, deep love -- also very evident love -- Weedle shared with Paul, who also happened to be her best friend. Going through pictures of Weedle over the years, I continually found Paul and Weedle often together, his arm around her or Weedle leaning into him. I'll miss that as well as Weedle.
-- Caryn
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