I thought of you as I walked the bridge home alone
Eyes quietly drawn to where the shallow met the deep,
Maybe it was the branches and the sad way they swayed and leaned that reminded me of you but in that instant I knew you were dead.
I wondered where the search would end.
When and if life’s giver would give you up.
Seems I was wrong.
They found you two days later in the woods.
Seven days, the sum total that you had lain on your own, cradled in moss, fern leaves and blood.
Perhaps animals found you first?
But being better than most humans left you in peace to repose.
When the news came in that you’d gone the sun was shining.
But much too hotly for that February day.
I remember long summer days.
The laneway by the house in full bloom.
Busy bees zipping along full of nature’s bounty for their queen.
And butterflies, aimlessly wandering happily from flower to flower carried on by a warm breeze.
And polished stones underfoot breaking through the crusted thirsty earth,
A giants causeway for the ants.
And primroses lining the banks with buttercups crowding together in sunny delight.
And further on,
Strawberry leaves peeping out behind great big dock leaves with the promise of fresh sweetness and the disappointment of finding them not yet ripe.
But most of all
I recall the quiet solitude of that time.
The warm sunlight on mottled mossy trees.
The feeling of utter belonging.