We're all mourning someone, something or something dear to us. I mourned my work life, as a teacher, when I could do that no longer. I felt important, working with all of my special needs students, particularly. I still mourn that sense of purpose. It's difficult finding something meaningful to do.
While mourning Sady, it brings up all the mourning we have had in our hearts and souls. When Buster and his late brother, Felix, and I would go walkies in the forest they would launch themselves up a tree. They were such a pair. They weren't yet a year when Felix was hit by a car. Buster mourned as much as we did. When I would take him for a walk he was so slow on along the forest trail. He wasn't his free, happy, joyful kitten self. It broke my heart, as I couldn't explain what had happened, or I wasn't sure he understood.
It was a good lesson for our granddaughters: look both ways when you cross the street. I tried collars, but that didn't work. Buster, at least survived.
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| Here are my fave trees and antler shed |
Over time, now that he is 3, he is a bit slower and less impulsive. We've done many walks since, and he lags behind, moewing. He's a big brother to Daisy, who adores him. We call her Buster II, as she not only shadows him, but does all the things he does. Daisy hangs with her brother more than her twin Dorah, who is more of a house cat.
They go on walks with me together. It makes me feel whole again.
This is what makes Daisy and Buster happy: the warmth of the trees, embracing the spring solstice, the promise of spring in the melted snow. The smell of spring is healing. What was knee-deep snow, is slowly disappearing.
This big, old cedar tree is a favourite of theirs. It's part of a magical lane, sheltering the deer in winter. This is where I found some deer beds one day, and my largest antler.
Tree climbing from
Jennifer Jilks on
Vimeo.
The cats love forest bathing as much as I do. The much prefer getting up into the trees, though, where the bark keeps some of the warmth of the sun.
