The Fifth Season

The Lodge in Rural Virginia

I am blessed by two friends who own this private get-away home which they call "The Lodge." It sits on about 28 acres, filled with nature on rolling hills.  The Appalachian Trail is right over the hill. Fort years, I went there with my black Lab companion.  She let me see through her eyes and hear through her senses. Best of all--I breathed in her excitement and passion for the world. I recall her chasing turkeys and standing stone still on the porch watching a raccoon make its way across the ice below. I lost her at age 9 from cancer.  One of our last days was spent at the Lodge, and I like to remember her cavorting over those hills with nose to the ground.  That's what she left me.  A fifth season of grief that colors all the other seasons, but now blooms in memory--and a new companion named Izzie the rescue Lab who came because we lost "B." 

The Fifth Season

The Lodge looks over the valley,

Of the fifth season, when the world

Grays grief and flows with tears,

As I leave the Annabelle years behind.

Her leash broken but tethered to memory,

Of the place we found together, alone

In the peace of the wild world where

Old Blackjack bear roams and black

Berries bake in the sun for snacks,

Along the trail far from the maddening

Years where nothing was needed but

The companion who walked me,

Regardless—just regardless.  

"Annabelle," 2004