It’s morning. I’m quietly sipping coffee, reading a novel that features an ensemble of Victorian era ghosts who hover helplessly perplexed, lovingly hoping the protagonist solves a mystery that left her broken, and from which they seek ephemeral redemption and release.
Prompted by the passage describing a dissembled old long clock, I pause to listen to the tick-tock of my grandmother’s cuckoo clock.
A minute’s reverie back and forth in time, memory and grief, now broken by the call of wild geese just returned, a harbinger of spring.
I remember today is the anniversary of my dear dog’s passing.
I remember I don’t have to walk a hundred miles on my knees to know my place in the family of things. (Thank you, Mary Oliver.)
Prairie Bound Peggy at 15 years
Katharine Weinmann, MSW 
great poem
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Thank you!
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welcome
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I can hardly wait until your book is published as I so want to read it. I wanted to know more about the ghosts and your dog. Thank you.
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Thanks, Sharon. Though to clarify, my book has nothing to do with ghosts…dogs, yes…then again, yes some ghosts!
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Oh my! I’ve been just realizing, with shock, that it’s just a year since a life changing event of my own – and hadnt yet formulated the term “reverie” as apt! And remembering now that I had no bandwidth to take in your journey of transition with Peggy. Hugs and appreciation for the richness of memories when the acute pain has eased.
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Thanks, Sharon.
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What’s the book ? Sounds fascinating !
Sent from my iPhone
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The World Before Us…
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