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VidhA Canada goose is flying overhead. It sounds lonely. Perhaps like me it has lost its mate. But then I see that in fact there are two, one almost on top of the other. They flap their great wings and fall silent as they separate, letting the air carry them in a sudden rise and dip. Then as they come together again the honking resumes. Over the long length of the creek they repeat this dance, flapping and honking together, then drifting apart as they grow quiet. I walk as far as the park where two great elms wed each other, branches interlocking high above the earth. Someone has placed a small taper there in a nook of the tree bark. An altar to some pagan god? I recall the story of Orpheus mourning Eurydice. I have no stringed instrument to summon you to life, but here under these elms at this makeshift altar I softly croon I do I do. On my way home I pass an elderly couple who hold hands as they walk together down the path. I recall my friend telling me about the white-haired man she met at the care home. He was visiting his wife, an Alzheimer’s patient. Isn’t she beautiful he had said. Later that day I prepare the table for guests, a dear friend and her husband. I am entertaining. I do this because I fear isolation. Will I turn into the weird woman on the block? Will young children whisper about me as they steal past my property? Will teenaged youths throw eggs at Halloween? It isn’t until after the table is set that I see I have set four places instead of three. |
