Probably out walking with that old hound of his. A sob welled up inside of him, then another as he thought of their son, Linus. May have strict rules about defaced cards. They may not accept a bloodstained card, though. One more cup and he’d have got a free cup. He saw on the dash his loyalty card from Gulch Coffee Shop over in Noon City. They’d pulled a car over, the car stopped, men got out and fired at the patrol car.
OK, on patrol on a country road near the turn off for the waterfront trail. He tried to cry out to her but just a mouthful of blood came out. She must be lying on the road outside of his range of vision. Must have been hit in the hail of bullets. What was her surname? Where was she? Probably went for help. OK, he and his partner, Deputy Joan something – this patrol partnership was barely a week old. He jerked back into consciousness and tried to remember what had happened. Now it was riddled with bullets and so was he. I will scatter your ashes beneath the tree where you promised to be mine forever, then I will sit by the waters to weep and send the whales a new song.ģ45 Ray Burkitt sat in the front seat of the patrol car he had been driving. Your letter said your spirit would be here, in this place you loved so much, but I’m struggling to believe that. I don’t know what I’ll do later when the house is emptied and I am alone. Is it God’s divine plan that all my heartaches come in this season, my emotions at odds with the setting? The sun is warm when it breaks through the leaves and there’s a gentle buzz of insects in the spring air. They’re back at the house, but this last walk is for us alone. And why wouldn’t they when you poured your love into them as if they were our own? The nieces and the nephews and their respective families. I held your hands and we cried together for what would never be. I found you here, of course, your salty tears falling into the river – sending your story to the oceans for the whales to lament. I told you I loved you, that it didn’t matter, but you walked out alone regardless – the only other time you left me. I remember the spring we found out we would remain a couple only – the bitter irony that in the season of new life we’d be unable to make any. We had our walks and we had our seasons – snow laden pines in the winter, summers at the arboretum. If I could still trace our paths would they alter? I think not – for we were creatures of habit you and I. Our former footsteps left inconsequential prints upon these winding routes, only to be covered by leaf litter or obliterated by the footfalls of those with less grace than you. Beneath this dusting of pine needles rests layer upon layer of nutrient rich earth – the forest feeds itself through biodynamics or God’s divine plan.
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