first fall

I woke up early and went for a walk in the woods. The morning light was so clear, laying softly on the ground as if barely touching it the way only autumnal sunlight can do. The air was clean and crisp and tasted of apples and my dog was bouncing ahead of me down the trail and I thought maybe, just maybe the crying part of this is over, which will be a relief for a, my husband who has become accustomed to finding me in tears or hearing my quavering voice and saying What’s wrong is something wrong or is it just…. and b, my eyes are so sore and swollen they hurt all the time and ohboy am I ugly in the morning when I can barely get them open.

So I got through four of the five miles before I cried, when I saw a huge pine cone and picked it up to feel it’s heft and compare it to the size of my head, which connected to a memory of our first trip to Tahoe 20 years ago this year. Charmed by their gargantuan size, I filled the backseat with huge pine cones that dropped seeds that suck to the suit pants of clients you took to lunch the following week.

Since I was already bawling I walked off the trail, deeper into the woods, and yelled your name as loud as I could, which wasn’t very loud or intelligible because I was crying harder now. The first fall without you in the world is painfully beautiful and I’m so sorry, my dear, I’m so fucking sorry you’re not here to feel it, to see your kids coming home from school, to go for a walk with R. admiring the way the Japanese maples burn like torches and with the sound of dead leaves crunching underfoot.

The griefstorm ended and I reassured the dog, who hates when I cry and has taken to laying near me during the day just in case. I listened for awhile to the silence of the trees and a few birds singing. Another thing gone from the world - your beautiful whistling. Another thing almost no one knew about you, except me. You could imitate the song of any bird, and it was musical and wonderful, a skill you picked up from your mom, who as a girl went with her dad to nursing homes at Christmas, he fiddling and she whistling to entertain the old folks. I remember the two of you warbling together in her kitchen, the unexpectedness of the lovely sound of it.

Then we walked home in the beautiful morning light of autumn and the cool air felt good on my wet face.