lui is in heaven

May. The month of flowers. The month to celebrate Mother's day. The month my father died, years ago. . . Like Beltaine "Bel's Fire" where folks dance to celebrate fertility. Of beginnings. Of new growth. In the dry patch of earth, in our homes after death and grief, in our garden as well as in our hearts. The weather heats up and like most beginnings, it is sometimes paved with rough stones that cut through our skin, making us flinch, making us learn, keeping us strong . . . making everything new, exciting again.

I look at the skies and I see loved ones. I saw fluffy clouds, some black drooling thing with happy tails wagging, an old female dog with kind eyes waiting, a young soprano singing painlessly at last, her lovely lola waving happily back . . . and somewhere in all that blasted hot-threatening-to-rain clouds, lies my present heart . . .

Goodbye, Alexis! Goodbye, MrsE! Hi, Pica! Hello, Bogart! And Charlie, leave all your pains in the clouds. You are all home now. Celebrate and keep some for us . . . .