the art of fetch - in loving memory

I found a stick on the ground today

Funny how it reminds me of you
our summers by the pond
sticks of all sizes - flung
into the water
onto the grass
flying through fields
pulled from the mud
dead wood debris
held in your mouth
running though trees

A stick
I could have found in the woods but
I am on a city street and
it is out of place - as am I
with cars whooshing by
as evening darkens a clouded sky
with stars unseen lights of commerce
green red and white Christmas scenes
compete for view
on this cold December night

The curling bark reminds me of dreams
of seasons spent in our snowbound home
gathering branches to save on fuel
kindling fires in the black wood stove
to take an edge off winter's chill
chicken soup simmering
in the great room downstairs

Sticks I'd stack in uneven piles
and when you were bored
you'd pick them up, one by one
carry them back to your bed, then
break them into hand sized bites -
leaving a mess on the floor

I'd scold you gently then wrestle you down
rubbing my face against your fur
waiting for gentle kisses in my ear
the chocolate brown softness of you
a balm to my wounds

The bark of a stick
a pale shadow of you...

A simple stick -
a stick on the ground
no great art
yet the curling of the bark
with shades of earth
reminds me of the life it once had

Now a broken branch
with a vein of dried leaves, seed
pods on a silver stem withered with age

Here death imitates art
innate beauty in the making

It's funny ~ how a silly old stick can make me cry

^{all photos @torico, all rights reserved}