Last Square of Light

I always forget how short the days are in this part of the year, when I catch the last of the light slipping past the ridge at the edge of town, my sweater pulled over the white of my knuckles as Red Bike pilots itself down familiar streets, alleyways. In the shower my roadmap of veins and capillaries and other blue-blood movers glow against the white of my legs that stay hidden all day. In the mornings I wake under fleece and wool and feathers to dreams of cartires, Olive.

It’s been a long December, Sarah and I agreed this afternoon. The sky here is quiet and grey and in all directions the living are going on living and my loved ones are thriving, hurting, eating, dancing, sleeping, filling with slow sadness, overflowing with love and luck. I am thinking this week especially of the big eyed dog who needs this (“I need this.”) and the strength of her dog-mother, and of Hurricane Ben‘s pal, the great writer and artist Tim Kreider, who lost his longtime feline companion recently.

Hurricane Ben forwards this tribute from Tim’s website.

 

qat qollage

 

Love to you all, hugs if you should want for them.

Advertisements

About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
This entry was posted in The Cats of Others and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s