6/12/2023 0 Comments Flashdogs by Mark A. King![]() ![]() I don’t know what I’ll do later when the house is emptied and I am alone. Is it God’s divine plan that all my heartaches come in this season, my emotions at odds with the setting? The sun is warm when it breaks through the leaves and there’s a gentle buzz of insects in the spring air. They’re back at the house, but this last walk is for us alone. And why wouldn’t they when you poured your love into them as if they were our own? The nieces and the nephews and their respective families. I held your hands and we cried together for what would never be. I found you here, of course, your salty tears falling into the river – sending your story to the oceans for the whales to lament. I told you I loved you, that it didn’t matter, but you walked out alone regardless – the only other time you left me. I remember the spring we found out we would remain a couple only – the bitter irony that in the season of new life we’d be unable to make any. We had our walks and we had our seasons – snow laden pines in the winter, summers at the arboretum. If I could still trace our paths would they alter? I think not – for we were creatures of habit you and I. ![]() Our former footsteps left inconsequential prints upon these winding routes, only to be covered by leaf litter or obliterated by the footfalls of those with less grace than you. Beneath this dusting of pine needles rests layer upon layer of nutrient rich earth – the forest feeds itself through biodynamics or God’s divine plan. ![]()
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