Much as I want to share my experiences on other subjects, like Windmill Choreography, I cannot escape my feelings of emptiness and loss. Today they spilled out in some poetic form. I’ll work on travels and windmills, family and friends, beauty in life (and death), and other such things. But today I woke to a description of my current reality. And thus I share.
She Won't Be Back Again From dreamless sleep I waken But the nightmare continues She won't be back again The sun is shining The breeze is blowing But the nightmare continues She won't be back again I see her in her children Grandchildren carry on And the nightmare continues She won't be back again Talking to an empty room The pain of her absence lingers And the nightmare continues She won't be back again Looking at pictures of her She smiling back at me But the nightmare continues She won't be back again Laying down to slumber Dim the lights, mute the sound Dreamless sleep a solace In the morning the nightmare resumes She will never be back again
I continue to cry. So many reminders do me in. The world continues to turn. Its inhabitants go on with their lives. So many seemingly impactful events unfold every day. I am aware of them but they seem less important than my grieving. And though I still wear the grease-paint, “I hurt all the time deep inside.”
Next week I’ll have another opportunity to be more cheerful in my musings. One can hope! Until then, know that I continue to ride the wakeful waves of dreams and nightmares. I hope for good dreams and wakeful states for all of you this week and beyond.
The ups and downs of it all are painful. Here’s wishing for more good days for you.
This afternoon I took a hike in my favorite forest. About three miles into a four and a half mile walk, I sensed a change in my demeanor. I was feeling better. I even smiled a couple times. After such a serious post I decided it’s important to draw attention to positive moments in my day.
Physical exercise is about much more than physical health. In the woods, away from suburban hustle and bustle is particularly therapeutic.
To me, that’s the hardest part of death, the finality of it.