The Price Of Love, And Catching The Wind
Saturday, November 26, 2011
I must have been six , or seven years of age when I had my dog Puch near me.
Holding my arms, and hands out like a pint sized preacher when the wind blew fast was my delightful thrill , just as interesting as holding my arms , and hands out of mom's car window as the mighty blasts of wind pushed my arms back.
Mama told me not to stick my hands out of the window like that because I could lose and arm. Mama was like that.
The price of love is so dear. It aches my body when I think of all my little pets I have out lived. The trouble is that they just did not have enough life. My dogs I loved took so much out of me.
Wolf was one of my dearest dogs that I cherished. Wolf was a female. She was a beautiful Siberian Husky. She lived fourteen years. I listened to her heart until it stopped. I carried her like she was a golden lamb as she hung limp in my arms to her grave. I covered her with a white sheet, and with mother earth, and that was many years ago.
I am so tired when I think of the love I have had for God's creatures. It hurts my heart when I think back. Sometimes I wish I could pay a hypnotist to erase my memories of lost love so that my mind would grace me ,a full night of sleep, but I would feel guilty, for doing that , and for erasing them .
The cool wind. The lovely rainbows after a rainstorm are some relief to wash away the ills of the past ,for fleeting moments .
A little kiss from my first girl friend on my cheek when I was five. Her name was Mary Ann, and she was also five . On a little country porch with a screen door , at an old shotgun house was where my first sweet heart was from. She had the sweetest, prettiest most beautiful white dress , and I believe she even had little silk white gloves. She wore black well shinned shoes, and darling white socks. I was embarrassed because of her kiss. Funny thing was that I never saw Mary Ann ever again after that kiss. How unfortunate it was that I never saw her again.
My second love was a nurse. She held my hand on the sidewalks of an Orleans locale. She was older than me, and I asked her if she could marry me when I grew up. She said she would, but I knew in my heart it was never meant to be , and I never saw her again either. I was seven years old. She might have been in her twenties. It is so strange that no matter how young I was , or how young we are, we seem to understand everything about life as if the human mind is really mature at a very early age. Actually very little children know a lot about the heart, and their young loves. I believe I did.
Grace my heart that cries over old memories of old times gone by. The sound of voices that no longer exist like my mother, or dad's, or just a few of a number of very loved ones, and dear souls, and relatives I would like to see again. God, I wish I will see them all again in some wonderful existence in a future time.
The wind is my friend. It remembers loves I have lost as it visits us, and whistles around , and even under our home. The wind carries with it all the joys of long times gone, and it returns to me a kinship of endearing thoughts.