how the days seem dreary now-
no more than the day she left.
the clouds grey and foreboding-
the candles flicker, shadows dance
reminding me so painfully of that day
how her shadow moved the very same-
away from me, and through the door-
out into the whirling snow.
winter's coming on fast-
better chop enough wood.
pluck the last fruits of the harvest-
then say goodnight to the garden,
resting under a blanket of leaves and love.
In the vet's office.
My bunny, sedated.
They are coming soon with the second shot.
She had a good life. I hope she finds peace.
I'm going to miss her so much.
I love you, Whisper. I'm sorry.
Do you think people 100 years ago, in rural Vermont, looked up at the sky, at the milky way, the moon and all the stars? Do you think they marveled at them, and taught their children the constellations?
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