I passed this sunrise, on the seventh anniversary of my old friend's Farewell Day, with Bruce's Willow tree.
I once made space for his memory with the idea of Tomorrow, in the dim light of hope that my life, somehow, would have a sequel. Maybe, maybe, maybe one day I might stand in the shadow of a tree I planted, and I wanted my friend to be with me there. I planted life with a hound-dog shaped hole in my heart because a roadside eulogy was less than he deserved. The roots of this willow have stretched out for seven years, and I know for a fact, how rocky and unkind this soil can be. Growth is earned in this spot. The tree has grown, though, and grown well. As have I. Gentle rain touched my already wet cheeks. I felt a phantom black and white paw against my palm, almost real enough to shake. The sky is pink and gray and weeping, and the light is dim. But, it's enough to cast a little shadow and I stand just there. I have not forgotten when tomorrow did not exist for me. Tomorrow is here this morning, and I'm grateful. Bruce is here, as well, and I'm grateful for that, too. Best friends. Yes, sir. Always and always.
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AuthorI am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with laughter, good intentions, and the grace of God. Archives
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