I've spent quite a bit of time in the past 24 hours alone in the house. This used to be something I relished, especially on Tuesday nights when Joe was on a long team ride, before I started going to class on Tuesdays. I used to come home and really, truly enjoy that alone-time here, but was never alone since I had Jasper with me, and we would lounge together, walk around and stare at things, find our spots on couch or bed and nestle in, me keeping up a fairly steady chatter of baby-talk at Jassie, him talking to me always with his eyes. I'd wander in the garden and write and make dinner slowly, and enjoy being here with my sweet dog. Being here now alone is really alone, and makes his absence so enormous for me. I did all the same things last night -- wandered, stared, wrote, cooked -- but always with a feeling of agitation under the surface. Boo.
It's no wonder it feels weird to be here without Jasper. We hadn't even lived here a year before we adopted him and brought him into our house. Such a cute puppy, so small I could carry him in the crook of my arm. Honestly, we were in love with him, all three of us, the moment we saw him. He has been a part of this house through all its transformations, to the point where, even if his fur isn't blowing in dust bunnies everywhere anymore, still he's in everything I see around me, everything we've made here over the years.
And I wonder how interested he would have been, as we were, to visit the poor raccoon Joe found up the street. Such a beautiful face and such amazing little hands and feet. Of course it's morbid and weird (for some) that we stand around in the shoulder of the road and turn the lifeless creature this way and that to give him a thorough look, but honestly, when that raccoon was alive, he wouldn't have permitted it, no way. Just look at that adorable nose, how it scoops up at the end, like a badger's, and those funny little bear feet. So precious.
Jasper would have patiently waited for us as we stood at the blackberry bushes at the corner, watching bees roll and bumble about in the blossoms, wondering which bees were from our hives, Joe plucking a blossom and holding it, hoping a bee would land in it. He would have watched the cars go by as we still stood there, waiting, marveling at how silly we are, entertained by bugs. And then trotted home by our side.
So bittersweet, this spring, this spring that keeps stretching into the time that should be summer's. I don't mind the rain so much, really, since I too feel caught up in a wet weather pattern. But behind the gray skies, I know the summer's there, ready to bust out once we're past these storms. I'm ready.
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