sixth sense…

I often find that when one season blends into another I have flashes of my mom- her voice, her presence, her “knowing” me. Nostalgia I guess, just something about the year’s changing cycle that brings her near. Near enough to reach for the phone, near enough to settle for a “chat” when no one is looking. And today we chatted about my cat and how much I’m going to miss her, about how I keep hearing her call for me from the laundry room like she would do every time she heard my voice or footsteps, and about how I keep thinking it’s time to get her something to eat or drink. How it felt when she’d reach her little paw under my chin and purr when I held her, and how I held her a lot these last few months. And I told her of the poem dad wrote about Tig, and how my stupid-blubbering-self couldn’t finish reading it out loud after we carefully replaced the sod over the grave dad helped me dig this afternoon in the front yard. It was a nice chat. And it will have to do until another comes along...