Impossibly blue spring sky
Carries the early morning breeze that
Tickles the hair on my arms.
I inhale with my entire being,
And there—a faint, sweet perfume—
Tea olives, their tiny ivory flowers flavoring the air.
Awareness of my world, all senses waking up
Taking off on an easy run,
I adjust my stride for roots and rocks.
When my heart rate peaks and breath becomes labored,
I slow to a walk.
Awareness of the world of my body
Memories of his lean runner’s frame
And his fluid, effortless stride
Snake into my brain.
I miss him again for the five thousandth time,
But instead of tears, I smile.
Awareness that the world of grief means there was once great love
Later, playing with my granddaughter,
Rolling on the floor, then reading Good Night Moon.
A quarter of her self from me, a quarter from him.
She won’t meet him, but she will know him
Through the stories we tell.
Awareness that the world of her future self is rooted in past generations
In bed that night, I fluff my pillow,
Turn it over to its cooler side.
I reach for the second pillow,
His pillow, and hug it to my chest.
Awareness that though he is no longer of this world, he is here
Soft light filters through the gauzy curtains,
Dampening the shadows of grief.
Open windows bring wafts of honeysuckle.
Low hum of insects serenades me to sleep.
Awareness of the small world of my bedroom