As I prepared to leave one village for another I wrote a poem for my friends and their dogs.
I carry them with me these ghosts
As I move from fast to slow, chaos to peace
Essex to Cornwall.
A dream,almost realised, this move approaches
And I feel their presence.
Sam, Win and Major, old frail and vulnerable.
Sweet memories overide the sadness of loss.
Keeping friendships pacts.
I loved them, all three and their caring people.
The dogs were young together, played, hunted and swam in tandem.
As each grew old the others steadied them and supported their infirmities.
We walked slowly side by side on easy tracks to protect their grace and dignity.
They were beautiful, faithful and true.
Gone now, Major went last.
The other two, old hands at being dead will show him the celestial rabbit fields, the rivers to breast, the sand to dig ……and David
David will be there to greet his dog, strolling in sunshine
Friends at his side, smiling at regained exuberance.
The four will rest easy with me as I drive home.
Away from the old life and into the new.
The people I have to leave.
The dogs come with me.
I aplogise for this bit of self indulgence....I found the poem again whilst contemplating Crispin's life span...ot lack of it.