It was another of those dog days, January 11-- 1/11. Because a dog's bark in Japanese sounds like
Wan, I always say it's their day. It's not that I think they suddenly appear on those days--November 11 is another--but I'm reminded to remember them. Maybe they're always here. An animal psychic told me she could sense them in my garden. I can't see them or touch them, and if I could I suppose they would be hallucinations. But I do sense them, though I'm not sure if they're out there somewhere, or inside me in some weird way.
Despite all my spiritual inspirations, I miss the sight of them and the feel of them, even the smell of them. I remind myself that they are gone in that way, released from their bodies. And I reason that their bodies had worn out and could no longer support their lives. I feel some compassion in letting go of them and some comfort in keeping them alive, in spirit.
I smile when I imagine them running freely, frolicking in fields of golden flowers. Free, free, free at last!