We lost our parakeet Nemo last night.
It was odd occurrence. We had just
returned from a vacation in Spain; Montse was cleaning and unpacking clothes as
I was putting stuff away in my study.
I received a phone call from Rene, the woman who had been watching
our cats and the bird. She was distraught to inform me that our bird was
dead. She went on to tell me that Ramon
(her husband) had just checked on the bird earlier that very night and it
was fine; they had been telling it that mommy and daddy would be picking it up
the next day. Then, as they were preparing for bed, (it was near midnight)
she made a last check and saw Nemo at the bottom of his cage; just hours
away from homecoming.
He
was nearing 13 years old....pretty good for a breed whose average life span is commonly
just five.
Alas,
he was just a bird, but part of the tapestry I've grown fond to wrap up this
affection I call my world in. After
conveying the news to my wife and reconciling that death was part of the
overarching canopy we live under, I recalled an artist friend once telling me
of the loss of her bird, Sophie. I remember
I was touched and wrote a piece on it: I
thought in tribute to all of us who invite pets to be our heart's neighbor, I’d
share this much of me today.
Sophie's
Gift (to life's circle)
The day is.
As the senses receive
The sun, the breeze, iridescent green leaves on
bushes and trees familiar but names escaping retrieval remain unnamed.
Yes, the vestiges of spring, the heart’s delights
of life reborn
The circle is visceral.
Yet still, the circumspect side has no season,
One to prepare, to harbor our grief and wait until
we are dressed for the occasion.
Likened to a feather on the keyboard, reminder of
lost flight
The empty place in our hearts, in our nest.
Ah, be forgetful my misery, of love's visit gone.
Special in a creature I knew not as well as I
wished.
The traits, the colors, the very sound...only
whispers in my recollection now.
Ah, how cruel this comes, so unexpected.
But is it my awareness that let it come as a
surprise?
The circle is, and I knew it from youth.
I know glee of new found love, of joys and
happiness in a thousand senses and experiences.
Can I be honest with myself and exclude the
contrasting flavors awaiting my taste with nature’s ways?
Am I the master of this creation?
This world I carefully construct.
Adding an illusion here, dabbing one there.
I hold, no ~ I grasp upon such fantasy.
That only sunny days are in my spring.
A life of shimmering summer days riding motorcycles.
Ocean spray of speeding Sea-do's
Bar-B-Ques accented by smiling faces.
I am reminded in departures, of my quest to love
more meaningful.
To practice kindness more often.
Be honest
To others
To me
The passing is testament that time is an illusion.
We only have now.
My love is here today.
Tomorrow will be the eulogy to the dedicated heart.
The devotion, the joy rendered in the association.
Alas, in passing we are given the great gift of
awareness.
Of the dearness of loving hearts.
For us
Of our precious love in which we invest
To know
To behold
To live
Precious.....Cherished....tourist.
It is
a characteristic of condition; this ever-wandering mind. It thrives on
process; it demands fodder. What we do in place of living, is cultivate drama.
So every second we acquiesce to that unquenchable thirst and ravenous appetite
of the mind’s needs to chew on something; to figure out something beyond its
control; are precious seconds that not used in savoring the present
moment.
