I walked back across the field late Tuesday evening to take this photo, as I had promised. As a lover of Mother Nature, I find it fascinating to watch the light from the sun change as the day goes on and moves into the evening. I think I had originally planned to post my thoughts on this concept. But, I changed my mind. And there’s another wonderful topic to write about, the power to change one’s mind… not today.

I met Erica on my walk with Reddogg out in the fields. She is one of the beautiful Ladies that live on the farm and it was so good to see her. Yet it was sad, too, as her dad, Bill, passed last week. I told Erica I would miss Bill. I know a whole lot of people will miss that beautiful Man. He loved his family and his farm. Bill was always so gracious to me, allowing me free walking privileges on all these acres located from across Our Treehouse. And I remember when one of his massive bulls escaped from the fields and was standing out on my driveway one Sunday morning. Boy, was I surprised! I called Bill and he came right over in his gator, with his son Kyle on the tractor. Oh, the patience it took for those men to cajole that bull back into the fenced-in pasture.

My favorite memory of Bill was about two years ago. It was a few weeks after my surgery on my tongue and neck and I had agreed to the next step in my plan of care, a gastrostomy tube, or G-tube. A G-tube is a plastic tube placed in your stomach for nutritional purposes. Well, let me tell you, that damn tube caused me more pain in the first four days after it was placed than I ever expected. My sweet cousin Sheila stayed with me a few days to help me, thank God. The pain would come out of the blue, like an invisible fist grabbing the soft tissues of my stomach and squeezing as hard as a fist could squeeze. I’m not sure who it was harder on, me, standing in my kitchen blowing breaths out of my mouth fast and hard as if I were having a baby, or Sheila, her beautiful eyes wide with compassion and sadness, feeling so powerless to help me. I could hardly walk, much less leave Our Treehouse for my prayer walks. I was pitiful with my walking, moving around the house with what I called my G-tube shuffle. Finally, I was stronger and in much less pain. I made it outside on a cold winter day and took a short prayer walk with Reddogg. And there was Bill in his truck, out on the farm, and he stopped to say hello and check on me.

“I’m so glad to be out here walking again, Bill,” I said to him. “For a couple of days I wasn’t sure if I’d get back out here.”

“I’m not surprised at all, Joan. You’re strong.” Then Bill took his hand and pointed up to the sky. “You just remember Who’s really in charge, that’ll help you through all this.”

I’ve never forgotten those words. And Bill had a history of his own health issues. Plus a few years back he was cutting down a tree and a huge branch fell on his face! Bill was strong, healed fast, and was back to work on the farm, where he wanted to be.

But as I walked Tuesday evening I began to think about Bill and all the Dear Ones in my life who have passed, who have made their transition. I really did stop and listen. Remember, I was a hospice nurse for twenty-one years, and the stories I could tell. I really do believe that those of us that have passed are only a breath away. It’s all just a whole level of consciousness. Then this poem came to me, just kind of flowed into my brain, and I decided to write it down and share it with you. Because I understand, Dear Reader, you have your own Dear Ones, too.

In the Softness of the Night

The sun was melting in the west, its bright light falling from the sky.

The birds grew quiet, huddled up, hidden high up in the trees.

I listened, abated breath, straining to hear that pledged sign from you.

For they came to me, those thoughts of you, as I trudged across the snow.

In the softness of the night.

I wondered where you were, as I had wondered many times before.

Perhaps you’re sliding down a rainbow, or jumping on the stars.

How can it be that you are there, and I am left behind?

Or could it be that you are here? A simple breath away.

In the softness of the night.

I could wait till night turns dark, and stars are shining down upon me.

Then I’d reach up, my fingers long and wide, to pluck one from the sky.

I’d crack it open with my heart, and there, I would find you.

I would smile and I would cry, memories filling me up, spilling over. Us.

In the softness of the night.

Then I hear the promised call, the verberation heard far across snowy fields.

I see the Hawk, circling high above in the sky, faithfulness has found me.

Hawk perches on a branch, sets his sights on me. I feel the bond, I understand.

I smile, happy, my cheeks wet from tears. I turn, it’s time to walk back home.

In the softness of the night.

c   Love, Joan