A girl on a bike
passes through the streetlamp’s glow
and then she is gone
(2021)
This one is from three years ago, but somehow I never got around to posting it. I did not realize what I would miss about leaving Washington state three years ago. But on one of my last walks in the late winter evening damp I felt the impending loss of many things. I knew we would be moving soon.
My wife was learning to navigate life in a wheelchair after a fluke bike crash and subsequent spine surgery. We had lived for nearly 28 years in our two-story home, and now that she could no longer get up the stairs she resorted to sleeping in the dining room and showering at church.
On this evening, with her safely ensconced in bed, I got out for a bit of exercise. And I became keenly aware of loss. Our old life had already undergone drastic change and more big changes were coming soon.
The walks together through the changing seasons, up and down the hills and winding paths. The first spring crocus blossoms. The fragrance of cedar and plum blossoms. The chorus of song birds that woke us up on bright May mornings. The surprising glimpses of distant snow-capped peaks when the clouds parted. The long, perfect sunny, summer days. The brilliant leaves in autumn. The fog and mist and even the ubiquitous rain.
We would be leaving behind our dear neighbors and friendships forged over nearly three decades. Our familiar haunts, the used bookstore where I could always find an interesting old book of poetry. Not least, our home where we had raised our children, hosted countless dinners, laughed and conversed into the night, and where, without realizing it, we had grown old together.
It sunk in: I would miss it all.
Poetic Champions 