Is And Isn’t

Glistening with sunrise are leaves dampened by rainfall in the small hours…1, 2, 3…hitting my windshield in little spits...

September 1, 1:45 am: Driving home from the bar. Hershey, where are you?

I'll look in the misplaced shadows where a little bit of her might linger and blend in the forest's dips and hollows.

She keeps afloat and aflutter that cluster of swallowtail butterflies overhead. She’s a whispered breeze. Hershey?

I have been seeing her in my head non-stop since I found her Monday, aware with a glance that she was gone. Less dead than free, she had shed her cancer on the basement floor. Her lifeless body was just a tumble of discarded clothes, but I cried anyway.

Where does life go? I can’t believe that Mother Nature, who coaxes life from frozen ground each spring, would waste the loving energy squeezed inside a dog’s short life. Be free girly.

The vet called today. Her remains are ready. We can bring Hershey home.