47: Week 25

Sometimes, dinner is a piece of chocolate babka with a side of salad. That was last night. And if I had more than one slice of babka, I imagine it could be several nights, because these past few weeks have been a bit of a doozy for me. 

Fires rage through various parts of Colorado and many other areas of the country, a country ruled by a regime that ignores the earth, destroys agencies that protect her. Blazes of destruction. Two days ago, fire invaded the town of Louviers, a place unknown to me until our birdwatching field trip there in late May. Nan kept bringing up the owls we saw there, their homes possibly burned. Grief and worry for all the destruction, lives taken in floods, a future with former functioning government agencies that protect the land, help financially during recovery, provide warning when possible, disappeared.

During my wanderings in the neighborhood recently, a usual daily activity, I've noticed more signs like the one on the pole, a reminder of the horrors committed by this regime. An email from the ACLU alerted me to proposals for ICE to infiltrate parts of the state, establishing death prison camps--corporate greed and no regard for a human life. Walsenburg's mayor applauds this idea, saying "Oh, I think it's a Godsend....If they use it for ICE or they use it for a prison or use it for whatever they want to use it for, we really don't care as a city. It's a pretty big paying customer for us." I'll be calling him, calling out his lack of empathy, disregard for human lives.

Prior to these last few days, I haven't been able to summon much rage at the regime. Instead, time and energy went to caring for our sweet catdogboy Dowan. Every corner of the house holds his spirit. A box containing lots of cat toys sits in sight now, and I see him standing next to the box, dipping a paw into the pile, pulling out a favorite catnip pillow. My desk which proved a favorite place to chew on papers, nibble on a computer cord, and challenge us to make him move onto his cat condo, reminds me of his mischievous lovable glance. Melting hearts.

And today, grief hit me with a wave of fresh tears when I read about poet Andrea Gibson's death. I've been following their journey through insta and substack over the past couple of years, grateful for their perspective and zest for living. Words that landed so deeply, words I find myself reading and rereading today, such as  "I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I ever could have imagined" from their poem "Love Letter from the Afterlife." So grateful I saw them a little over a year ago perform poetry. An evening that took up a long term residence in my heart.

Hours in the hammock reading, staring at the sky, playing fetch with Whitman (who also is grieving), characterize many parts of my recent days. Restoring. I hope your weeks give you time and space to simply be, to find the quiet that erases all the noise of life, even if the moments are sometimes glimpses.