I just finished reading In Sunlight and in Shadow by Mark Helprin. A sentence near the end of the book resonated with me deeply. “…in the end the whole world is nothing more than what you remember and what you love, things fleeting and indefensible, light and beautiful, that were not supposed to last, echoing forever…” (Helprin, 702).

I have built a memorial to hold the ashes of my cat, Smooch. There was a spot she loved up at our cabin, in the tall grasses under the aspen trees. I dug out a circle and put half of her ashes in it. Then I made a white quartz border with the letter, “S” going through the middle, from top to bottom. I filled the negative space with dark rocks. I then built a rock path leading to the spot. That was two weeks ago. When I arrived this weekend, there was a penstemon blooming right next to the spot. The amazing detail is that it was not the florescent lavender or bright pink of the other penstemons on our land. It was a deep, almost black, purple. As silly as it may sound, I couldn’t help but feel it was in some way, acknowledgment of her presence.

Having finished scoring all of the final exams and getting grades posted, this first hike of summer was especially sweet. The dirt road to the trail head was blocked by fallen pines. As we walked up the road, we were stunned to discover hundreds of uprooted trees, many with trunks two feet in diameter. It must be the result of the 100 mph winds we had earlier in the spring. Nonetheless, we made it to the lake. It was amazing to see tiny alpine forget-me-nots already in bloom.There was a brief window of bright sky before the thunder rumbled in and the graupel turned the landscape white. What is it about the scent of pine and rain that makes everything feel so alive? This is the beginning of my return to the world without walls.

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Today I saved a small bug. It was clinging to the tiles of the shower stall, trying not to drown in the beads of water. By the time I took my final rinse, it was on the floor. Using a plastic cup and a dry rectangle, I transported him to the vanity counter. He looked dead. I left him there and gradually, I saw the twitch of a leg. Then he rolled into an upright position. It was too cold to put him outside. I delivered him to the basement and left him on top of the filing cabinet. He played dead, but when I returned to check, he had crawled off.

I am not sure why I cried when he was on the shower floor. It looked like it was too late, the force of the water had knocked him down. Nor, did I fully understand, why I felt a sense of joy when I later checked, and knew he was still alive.

I do know that when I saw him, crumpled on the vanity, for a brief moment, I felt like him. His later recovery brought me hope.