It is in the open spaces, the order finally created last night
since her passing, that I ache,
outside in the path of a cool summer breeze after night rain,
and endless days of sun-baked heat behind us on the trail of time.
In the distance, recorded and given, for a moment just as this,
a man sang with his flute, a haunting melody for the earth,
for the spirit, for an unnamable knowledge.
His song is my solace, the shape of the wind,
a memory and the lightness of hope, of knowing
a way beyond words,
the substance of love that death can only magnify.
My mom passed away July 23rd. I miss the familiar way we communicate, her voice, and smile, but she is still near, helping as always. May I write many more words of love and memoris of her/us as the days move forward.