Stormy Weather

It's clearing, I think, though still blowing hard from the south, and there's a lot of standing water. The cherry blossoms fell like snow on the path. There may have been some real snow up high, but I won't know for sure until I see a peak or two when the clouds lift. I felt bad for the tourists on the the first cruise ship of the season yesterday, trudging down the gray, wet sidewalks and streets in their plastic ponchos. They looked like I felt after learning that Song Nash had died of cancer in a Seattle Hospice near midnight  Saturday: drenched, weary, and flabbergasted at the unfairness of it all. The rain gushing off the corners of our roof shot holes in the yard.  "When angels travel, the heavens weep," a friend said.

Of course, as always happens, there were those taps on the shoulders from the good angels, the snuffling new baby boy in Song's sister's arms in church, the friendly Italian dancer from the ship standing in the produce section in a soggy down coat wondering where else he should go. " Wherever I travel I always visit grocery stores," he said. We talked about Italy, and I told him I was there last year, and food, and when we parted I thought of Song again, in his chef years and that black cod he cooked so well. And then I saw Tom in his orange rain gear trying to snap a photo of the ship in the rain at the dock for the paper, and we laughed about how Song was always so neat and tidy, and organized and sure, among his wild brothers. 

And today is my wild son's birthday, and I miss him more than usual, but I will see him soon, and there is a cello and piano concert with virtuoso musicians from the Juneau Jazz & Classics festival tonight at 7:00 in the Chilkat Center, and Haines High graduation is tomorrow night in the gym, and it's supposed to be sunny and near 70 by Wednesday. (Plan a cookout?) Thursday is the preschool graduation in Tlingit Park, and a friend's birthday, and a borough budget meeting, and then it is Friday and another beerfest weekend. Time flies. I can see it on the wind whipping over the inlet this morning proving whomever said that first is correct. And what do we do about it? Hold on tight to what is good and true, and please, love each other. (We won't live this day again, will we?)




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