recently i went on a train through the rust belt, up through illinois, ohio, to syracuse new york for a job interview. conversations on trains; french toast; the feeling of sitting up, statuesque, sleeping:::noises, silences, of sleeping people-- a sort of beautiful vulnerability. i changed into my outfit in the amtrak station at syracuse, got ready. pulled my hose apart but luckily had another outfit. ate at subway. looked around me--most of my visions are of the college campus there, and then of the walk i took that evening after all was done, walking from the mall-- where i hung out for several hours, drinking a sangria, then a chai--to the amtrak station. no flowers. vast parking lot outside of macy's. weirdly, i had been to the syracuse train station more than a decade earlier when my sister got married in boston: my friend dropped me there after an all-night drive--she was going to work on an animal rescue farm in upstate new york--. . .anyway, the hallway, white with windows, stretching from the trains to the station: i remembered it. and now i've been home, and reading emotional books to finn. the day after we read one called "old coyote", he painted a purple painting of a dog dreaming of another dog. in "old coyote" the coyote dreams himself into another world as he dies--he spends the whole book preparing to die/dream in this beautiful way--thinking about how wonderful the world is, how warm the sun is, how he has lived a good life. grateful, in an animal way. like a tree is grateful, or a plant. i am grateful, i hope. i think i am. when i think, i am. "the butterflies are mating!" someone declared, yesterday. sure enough, orange and black butterflies were startled up out of the be-dandelioned fields today in hickory hill, by ecstatic finn and his friend annika, and of course by the quinn dog. who is also ecstatic. who just turned twelve years old: old dog now. "the dogs are getting old!" the quark said to the clock. be-ribboned be-rainbowed be-dandelioned dog, i love you, i grateful you, happy birthday.
. . .
I can imagine the body
embroidered to the soul
The color of the sea
the earth
embedded in every touch
--pam rehm
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