It’s Friday. Morning.
Our kittens have returned from the vet, and now we can’t worry that MacGyver will impregnate Ruby. I thought they would come back sedated and tender. Instead, they are bouncing all around and tearing things up. Literally.
I wonder how Sage feels now that the kitties are back after two nights away. Sometimes I can’t look at Sage without my eyes welling up and warmth spreading to that certain spot in my tummy. I love her a million times over. And then a million times more.
One day she will be gone. Someplace else. Not on this worldly earth. I know that. One day she won’t be a part of my every day life. One day I’ll have a new dog that is my world. A dog I will feed and pet and love and wander with, and it won’t be Sage. And we will all remember Sage.
In twenty years, Kevan and I will look back to when we were in our thirties and lived in that barn and still had Sage. And it will all be a memory, feeling just like the memories I have now from twenty years ago. A lifetime ago.
I think of this often. Not in a sad or depressed way, but in fascination over the passage of time. In appreciation for getting to experience it all.
The kittens will most likely outlive this dog, and one day they’ll be old. One day they shall pass too. If all goes well, Sage will go first, then the cats, and then, hopefully much later, the humans of the house. That’s just the way it is. Life.
I feel something shifting inside of me lately. Something opening up. And maybe something closing too. The inner-workings of my soul shifting and adjusting. Oscillating. The muscles of my spirit contracting. A quaking, like the earth below its surface. I shall let nature do its thing.
There hasn’t been much of a winter here. Valentine’s Day marked one whole year since we first arrived in Burley. Everything felt so different then. So unknown and novel, a whole new world to explore. And we explored.
When we first arrived, the Dolphin was my only vehicle. I remember driving out onto the country roads alone for the first time after we had settled, just headed in whatever direction felt right, and I had no idea what was this way or that way or over there. I looked out at the hills and wanted to go there, unsure if I’d run into a town or not. I had no point of reference. I hadn’t researched anything or looked at maps. I just came to this new place, following my heart which followed this man.
And now we know what’s over there, and over there, and there. The more I explore, the smaller the world feels; I can fill in the gaps and color in the spaces on the map in my mind. Yet, at the same time, the more I explore, the more the world opens up. Physically, it gets smaller, but conceptually, it gets larger.