Sunday, 19 March 2011
I saw my first robin of the season today as I walked through the park between Georgetown and Dupont Circle. The flowering trees and bushes are ahead of the robin sighting, but I almost jumped with glee. I wanted to call Loren to tell him about it, then remembered, dejectedly, that Loren is not here, not on earth to enjoy this change of seasons, this annual rebirth. 
I long to hear his voice, to have him tell me about spring in Tallahassee, which he and our sister Andy shared and loved. At the very first sign of spring, Andy heads straight to her garden. Loren went straight to a nature trail to hike. I see him hiking now, in the grassy meadows, along the Aucilla river, at St. Marks’ Wildlife Refuge, with friends from the Tallahassee Trails Association.
On the way home from Dupont Circle that evening I saw the full moon shining brilliantly over stately Victorian buildings. I stood still for a long time. The silence of the moon. I thought it was shining brighter than usual, closer than usual, as bright and close as the lights lining the streets. It was, indeed, a "supermoon" I learned later on a weather report.
On the way home from Dupont Circle that evening I saw the full moon shining brilliantly over stately Victorian buildings. I stood still for a long time. The silence of the moon. I thought it was shining brighter than usual, closer than usual, as bright and close as the lights lining the streets. It was, indeed, a "supermoon" I learned later on a weather report.
If it's a supermoon Loren must see it too, I thought, I hoped, although my hope is stronger than my faith. The brightness of this moon must touch his soul, somehow. I want to believe this, with all my heart. I want to believe that the lightness of his being was reflected in the light of this full moon.
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