You have to look with better eyes than that

I have not blogged recently, simply because I have had nothing to blog about.  I have not felt like going outside other than for the task of hanging out laundry.   This is unusual for me, normally I would hurry through my household chores so I could spend time outside with my camera and catch up on what nature was up to in my yard.  Recently though my heart was just not in it, I could not see the point in it.  I busied myself with work indoors and left my camera on the computer center neglected.  It was almost as if, with his few last breaths, Cueball had hungrily eaten up all of the beauty in the world and taken it all with him. He had not of course, life was going on as always without him.

No, beauty never went anywhere.  What Cueball had taken with him as he lolloped across the Rainbow Bridge, on the way to his undoubtedly joyous reunion with Judy, was my ability to see it.   Raw, swollen, tear-stained eyes are not the vehicles fit to transport images of beauty to the centers of the brain that can fully appreciate them.   But, as the tears subsided and the swelling went down, tiny flickers of beauty occasionally filtered through, but my brain, still burdened with its grief, blocked them like so many invading hordes.   It felt somehow unseemly, as if taking any joy in the smallest of things would be an insult to his memory.

Today though, as I was hanging out my laundry, I glanced at the bird bath and smiled when I remembered the day that Cueball zigged when he should have zagged while chasing Judy around the garden and hit the birdbath head on.  While the concrete bowl went one way and the concrete base went the other, Cueball was no worse for wear and simply looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face “what?” he appeared to ask  “did I hit something?” .  The smile turned into a laugh and slowly, like an early morning fog lifting as the sun rises, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a baby lizard, no doubt this year’s clutch, learning the fine art of hunting on the Sweet Autumn Clematis.

I finished hanging out my laundry and went into the house to retrieve my camera, wondering what else I might have missed while my vision was impaired.   The first thing I noticed was the Dahlias that I planted this spring are now blooming, and yet I had completely failed to notice.

The Beauty Berry bush, a gift from the birds years ago, had flowered and was now covered in a glorious show of purple berries.

The Caladium, again that had been planted in the Spring, were putting on an incredible show in the shady area between the rose arbor and the vegetable garden.

Most important though, there were butterflies everywhere.

I felt as though I had awakened from a deep and unending sleep, eyes closed tight shut, unable to rouse from the darkness of misery.  As I stood there, in the middle of the patio, watching all the life go on around me, I realized that no matter how deep and dark some moments seem, they are never so deep that you cannot crawl out the other side, where there had been tears, there would once again be smiles, and where there had once been gloom, there would again one day be sunshine, and lizards, and butterflies, and laughter.

Did I ever tell you about the time Cueball ate the bathroom?




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