the words turn to blur
every voice fades
to white noise
dew wet trousers on
an early kneeling morn
chapped lips imagine
kisses in chill mists
dreams are made of
morns made like these—
the smell of apples
drifting in
white noise
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white noise
Letting go
As prepared for the inevitability of such things when your vet calls you up with blood work results and does a lot of heavy sighing during the conversation, it is never easy to accept that a pet is dying. And probably faster than you had hoped.
One of my Maine Coons, Fennekin (named after the Pokémon), has been ill for a while. She was borderline having kidney issues a year ago, but it rapidly progressed until she was showing the beginnings of kidney failure just a month or so ago.
She was promptly put on a special diet with additive to help her kidneys. We thought we saw improvement, even. Until we didn’t.
Last night, she refused her dinner. And treats. She loves treats and loves that she’s been getting stinky, fishy, wet food while the others get kibble. She skipped breakfast and went into a space away from everyone. She refused lunch.
We’re taking her into the vet today, not expecting to bring her home. For thousands of dollars, they can keep her alive. Maybe a month or two. Maybe as little as three days. But her death is inevitable. And soon.
There are people who will spend their life savings keeping a pet alive without once questioning if the pet has any meaningful quality of life while they are kept alive on infusions and tubes. I’m not that kind of person, which will upset some readers. I ask myself, as miserable as she looks right now, if Fenn would thank me for the ordeal or if she might be happier without feeling so damned sick.
And it makes me a little ill myself to know that I have pretty much made the decision that if they can’t keep her alive for the long weekend through some magic so everyone can say goodbye, I’m okay with letting her go.
The appointment is in less than 90 minutes. We’ll see what they say then, but the prognosis from my perspective is not good. She looks like she feels horrible.
What I will miss most is her trilling as she follows me around, wanting me to talk to her, give her a scratch under the chin.
better days To like, click comments or:
Letting go
echo dream
i can't help but wonder
when you talk,
if you talk to me
or if that is just dream
speaking past soft veils
perhaps it is just a dream
echoing another dream
in which there is nothing
but a dream left for
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echo dream
Receptions
From deep within the weald, there is a longing to sit with, to learn from.
Go fly to the mountain, raven, sit on the stone-filled heath. Become the fells, be come the high places. Better yet: sink down into the underwood deadfall and loam, wrap roots around and tangle hair with moss, lichen the bone. Grow antlers. Become the stone. Who needs these wings?
They come. They receive. They go.
Grow to flint, knapped and worn. Become the old trunk they come sit with and exchange, clear off scalloped white fungus as they while away until there is nothing more. They take that away too, and cast away when bored. But that is the way.
When you are not looking, comes the wolf. Not just a wolf. The winter wolf.
And being stone will then be the whiling away while the longing melts of winter.
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Receptions
casting runes — 21may25
dagaz we are twist until we are break this cats cradle all at tangle we are caught between day & night
A rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is dagaz, which has been translated as “daybreak”, that transitional moment between night and day. By extension, it might also be interpreted as “twilight” and is representative of liminality, transformation, the space between worlds, and suggests walking in both the material world and otherworld.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
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casting runes — 21may25
selling sanctuary
i river the faces &
cling no more
i have tried
red flags followed
under alpine stone
skitter scree grey
and cut to bone
the fox screams with me
and feathers down to blackTo like, click comments or:
selling sanctuary
we needs slendering
sometimes we needs slendering
between their slipstreams
flesh knifed and stretched
beyond the thin and lean
and i know my blind skein
draws taut against the choke
clenched against the screams
my everyday halloween
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we needs slendering
Heads will roll
For Jolene Rice’s Storytime prompt.
Must include the following:
- person who laughs at inappropriate times
- butcher
- wishes come true
- shhhh!
When you are the Queen they let you laugh at inappropriate times.
“Off with her head,” followed by a mad cackle. Or three. And then they say: “Oh, it’s just the Queen being a Queen,” and they join in once they realise there are consequences involved to not joining in the reverie.
Then everyone is laughing.
And it becomes less inappropriate to laugh because of reasons.
The last one had the audacity to call Us a butcher. How very droll. And still, We made his head roll. Because when you are the Queen, they let you order someone’s head removed on whimsy. The laughter was nervous, but all courtiers laughed the same.
When you are the Queen, people tend to laugh when you do. And rhyme when it suits a Queen to rhyme, too.
One of Our subjects said, “I wish I wouldn’t hear my Queen laugh when she beheaded someone.”
“Shhhh,” We said. “Your wishes have come true.”
He smiled.
“Off with his head,” We said.
And We held Our laughter until his head dropped into the basket. Then We let peel a mad cackle or three.
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Heads will roll
