a formal feeling comes--
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?
And yesterday--or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

Emily Dickinson
Lilypie Angel and Memorial tickers

Monday, January 18, 2010

1st Anniversary Visitors

Last year in those tumultuous weeks after we lost Milos I noticed (for the first time after living here for 3 winters) that we were being visited daily by a pair of Mourning Doves. Now, they have returned again to herald this week before his anniversary. Thank you sweet little birds for remembering him with your plaintive coo.

http://www.all-creatures.org/articles/ar-themourning.html