Loving Friends

Loving Friends

For Tan

She met us when we were new to the Caldera

and she a young thing, with a young child.

She and her man were planting a rainforest then,

where the original forest had been destroyed.

Now she’s a grandmother with a house in town

down by the river, with a lush garden (she hasn’t 

stopped planting) – jungly shrubs and trees

you can eat from. She feeds herself and friends.

She’s a sprite of her garden. Also

of the mountains and waterways she visits.

Sometimes, when she’s alone in these spaces,

others of that kind will show themselves.

She paints them: ethereal, part of the landscape.

My husband Andrew never saw such beings

but they spoke to him, helped him write a story

asking us all to preserve some of their wild places.

He’s been dead seven years (I still can’t believe

it can be so long). Whenever his name arises,

she exclaims with joy, ‘God, I loved him!’

and I cry and smile, remembering.

He was angel, not faery, but close enough.

Their soul origins, their human affection,

made such a bond that on Samhain night

in my home, she looked up and saw him.

He was crossing, as he did often in life,

from corridor to bedroom – probably 

just come from the study where he wrote.

He stopped to look at her, met her eyes.

A moment, a glimpse, then he disappeared.

Meanwhile I (who rarely see) felt the presence.

So quick, we couldn’t be sure. But we measured

the right height on the wall, also we pendulumed.

Yes, it was him. (Of course. Who else would it be?) 

The spirits are called by love, and drawn I think

by their own love too, to visit when the veil thins....

When we say goodbye, we hug hard, she and I.