Today, My Heart Broke

Today, my heart broke, as it has many times since I left the farm. Sometimes, it’s my ache for the trees: the towering and powerfully protective, symmetrical Ash Guardian; the bountiful, soft and nurturing apples (five of them…all of different sorts: the great, so very old, maples from which we tapped the pure sap water; the prolific elders, dripping with hope and the promise of good health…always; the lilacs, mock orange and roses with blessed scent and stunning beauty. The So-Many herbs in their various gardens. I miss them all. Mostly, right now, I miss being able to “tuck them in” with prayer, gratitude and a soft hand…for the winter.

But what stole my heart today was the memory of slaughtering my last sheep: my companions for years. The ones who made their babies, the ones who protected—the ones who were so tame and so loyal. I did not know how to give a proper ceremonial goodbye. My heart aches with this pain. I could not speak. I could not express to the greatest depths of my being…how much they meant to me. They were my family. And I chose to let them go…at the hands of another.

They never left the farm while alive. For that, I smile just a wee wee tiny bit. I was the last one to touch them—in whatever form that was.

My throat closes. I feel a overwhelming pressure. My head hurts. The tears well and overflow…with such magnitude, such strength …. like the flooding waters of the river gently carving softness into the hard and jagged rocks: over time, I will heal. Over time, I will soften.

My gratitude to my babies: I miss you all so. I thank you for every moment you breathed and walked across and along the land and paths. If, in your power, you can show up to me — in one way or another, I’d love to know you are home.