Those of you who follow this blog know that my night walks with my old dog Jack have meant a lot to me. Started by necessity several years ago because of the frailty of an aging dog, these night walks became surprisingly important; I saw and heard things I had not expected in the darkness of the night, and I became addicted to the night skies, even in winter.
After doing "his business," Jack would walk to my side to lean against my knee and watch whatever I was watching. I was ever a sky person, and Jack became one too. What I was looking at, he was looking at.
Last night for the first time since Jack died, I threw a sweater over my shoulders and went out alone to visit the night sky. The trees were stripped nearly bare, opening the sky to stars and a very bright three-quarter moon that tossed dark tree- shadows across the woodlands and lawns. The night was so bright that I could see the gold of the leaves on the ground, and so still that I could hear the whisper of every autumn leaf under my feet as I walked.
I loved it; Jack would have loved it as well. Soothing as it was, it broke my heart.