Are you out there somewhere?
Among the distant trees,
Diffused in the morning mist?
I look for you in sunsets,
I look for you at dawn.
In all the ever-changing light,
I know you're there somewhere.
I have your ashes in a box,
Though I know you are not there.
Just couldn't bear to quite let go,
Of your mortal remains.
Is it you who calls in a Winter's storm,
Above the howling gale?
Is it you in the rustling woodland sounds?
In the babbling icy brook?
Is it you who in the dark of night,
Makes the floorboard squeak?
I feel you in the warming air,
Of a fine New England Spring.
This is not where you came from,
But I feel you even so.
I feel you brush against my cheek,
I feel you lift my hair.
I feel you deep inside my heart,
And I know that you are here.
Sometimes I feel almost overwhelmed with nostalgia. Looking through old photographs, hearing a piece of music, maybe something I read will set it off. This morning it was the morning mist. I went out to get some photos and I felt as if Panther’s voice was calling to me from down in the woods.
I will write about Panther, but not just now.