cold yet close comfort

Twice in the past week I have been at my parents' house and decided to walk west on the close path that crosses a wetland. Despite near freezing temperatures, I've been glad both times I bundled and trundled.

Friday there was late afternoon sunlight, playing with clouds and beckoning a feathered double date to the nibbly water bar.



Today beneath blankets of gray I found solace.






The gloom in our hearts came from swift loss. A dear uncle died last Wednesday. Though in recent months I have stood near the bodies of friends, this moment with Jim was closer to the soul. We who gathered around his nursing home bed were bidding farewell to a brother, a helper, a participant in so many memories. The stories will come. Oh, the stories.

Right now, though, in the words of Tolkien's Legolas, the grief is still too near.

Not that Uncle Jim would have brought to mind an elf, nor a wizard either, I guess. One cousin said he made her think of a Hulk Hogan cowboy.

Jim had a heart of gold. He wanted his family to come together. Many times, around his barbecue grill on the 4th of July, the family did.

I wish to write about that. For now, I will walk and be comforted.


Beth Westmark said…
Wish I was with you to walk and put my arm around your shoulder. I hear the love for your Uncle Jim in your words. I was thinking of loss just yesterday, and how, as you say, it is swift. So often, too, it strikes when you are looking in another direction. The red-winged blackbird resonates.
Deanna said…
Thank you, Beth. I feel your arm around me.
My mom has taught me to watch for the blackbirds.
Carol Webster said…
Your poignant message resonates with me. These pictures give expression to our basic connection with God's world and appreciation of the beauty all around us, sometimes in happiness and celebration, and sometimes in muted, soulful grief. Yet, all are a part of life— loving, togetherness and separation.
Deanna said…
Mom, thank you; I'm glad you saw and related.