37

37 – Leo and I walked around East Chop this morning early when the sun was brilliant and the wind blowing hard from the northeast. Sometimes the sea did it, tugged at my heart, but I was thinking about the years gone by, my age, being a widow, when I bumped into a special friend who was jogging. He was a beautiful soul, special man. I hardly ever saw this friend anymore. He and his wife traveled so much.

They were lucky. They still had each other. They faced getting old together, holding hands on the airplane, talking together, lying close late at night. The pain of missing my husband felt like a dagger and I wondered about luck, about life and friendship and love.

So my heart ached when I got home and I said it out loud, that I missed Herbie, that I wished he had lived a long old life with me and swoosh, that was precisely when the red-tailed hawk flew by and landed on the shed not ten feet away from me and Leo. I stood there a while watching it, marveling at its size, the strength of its thick body. It was a messenger for sure, from the ethers, from my beloved.

I thanked it for stopping by and cried a little. And then I went on with my day. That was key, moving forward.

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