Monday, January 12, 2015


It's just starting to rain ... timing was perfect an hour ago 
when it was dry and sunshiny to walk down the hill to the Pine tree
 and leave something lovely at the stump,
and at the small pile of large rocks beside the stump

I don't visit this site too often ... difficult to sense
the enormity of the stored memories in this spot,
knowing the memory making stopped for both of them ... 
and yet I carry on.
Me and Jack. He led the way.

Ahead of me and through the gate, down the hill. He knew the trail well.
Sniffing and scouring the slippery decline to the Pine Tree 
as if showing me the safest descent to our destination.
He's been here before with me.
Nothing disturbed ... quiet, lovely, cold and damp 
 yet sheltering and fragrant ...pine scent and wet dirt.

Tiny green plants popping out of dirt clods
pushing toward the fleeting light from the sun,
reminding me that life goes on even in the darkest, deadest places.

My neighbor's horses have visited  the Pine Tree ... there and there
and over there, their hoof prints and fertilizer
for the newly awakening flowers and weeds 
that take over the hillside,
down to the spring-fed creek ... which dries up after the snow melts,
and becomes a handy path to follow part of the way back to the top of the hill
and home.

I was reminded of  a visit I made to the Pine Tree in 2011 ... my friend Erma, 
a Little Old Widder Woman like myself, 
walked down with me for her first visit to the site after Eldon had died.
Her husband Jim was Eldon's best buddy 
when we lived aboard our boat in San Diego harbor.

Two little old women making their way down a rather steep hillside, 
grabbing branches to keep us from sliding down on our bottoms, 
and placing our footsteps very carefully
or we'd tumble head over bottoms into the dry creek bed.

We made it back up the hill and spent lovely days remembering our 
darling husbands ...
but all visits come to and end.
Today, recalling her visit, I found a lovely poem she wrote and sent to me.
Thanks Erma for the memories and this delightful poem.

"We shared our tears
and memories
as we hiked down to his tree.
He chose this final resting place
it stands so beautiful to see.
Everyone who comes to say goodbye
brings a gift to place beneath the Pine,
While going down the hill I found my gift,
three smooth, round stones to leave behind.
As we began to climb back to the house,
I picked some flowers,
some weeds
some wild.
So here's my gift to help you through, 
in memory of your loved one,
here's another hug!"
Enjoy it,
make more memories.
Remember you are loved.
God bless you friend,