i know in my bones how blessed we are, but i wake from these dreams of our bodies tangled in the blankets of our first bed. the soft morning light shyly making it’s way into our room as lucy’s whiskers tickle my face. in these dreams i can smell freshly ground coffee beans and the cedar tree outside our bathroom window. i can hear the rhythmic chopping of zucchini from our summer garden, the sizzling of bacon in a well loved cast iron skillet. i miss wiping down the counter tops and mopping our dusty floors. i miss singing as i worked, windows flung open to a cool mountain breeze. have you ever noticed the sound the wind makes through an ocean of pines? i’d often sit barefoot on the edge of the porch with my eyes closed to listen. in these dreams i can feel the dirt beneath my finger nails, a clothes pin held awkwardly between my lips as my hands fight to keep a wet sheet from the ground. i can see the dogs chasing each other through the lupines in the clearing and around my favorite, ancient oak. the cat lounging lazily in a windowsill. in these dreams i can hear my husband sink an ax into a large wood round. over. and over again. i can feel the perfect lengths in my gloved hands as we stack them away for winter’s warmth. and oh, how i can see the stars. you’ve never seen stars so bright. unmolested by city lights, some nights i swear we could touch them.
at least the stars remain.