feathers and notes

it looks like the moon. it is the sun, on a misty june morning. rising, like a song. rising, like the realization that one day, we won't be there to see it.

i never lost anyone close this way, until now, she said.

i thought of you when i read the news this morning, i answered.

later i listened to him play, listened to when god created the coffeebreak. esbjörn svensson. strange to get to know someone so playful that way, through leaving. strange to listen to those tunes, induced by his fingers, now.

~

and strange to receive this unrelated and fitting mail just today.

But there was a strange moment, too. I was startled by something hitting the kitchen window so hard it almost broke the glass, and when I looked there was something white on it. I went outside expecting to see something that someone had thrown at the window, but lying under it was a large dead dove. Some of its feathers were stuck to the window. And this dove has young, but fortunately they are nearly grown and probably will be ok. It was a shock, though, and a reminder as I buried her. We must do what is meaningful with our lives, before we follow the dove.

feathers and notes.

and the meaning of life. on monday. without coffee break.