Aki and I climb to a mountain meadow. The little dog moves slowly, like an old man just awake. New ice covers the meadow ponds. Frost crystals on dead grass stalks melt into dew. The meadow rests as it must until the first real snows.
The Christian calendar calls for us to use these first days of ice and frost to remember our dead. Tomorrow, we are to honor saints. The next is for souls. This year I want it to be a time of remembrance, rather than mourning. I will think of a writing mentor who died last winter, remember the lessons she gave between her chemo sessions. I will pledge to honor her by applying those lessons in my work. Then, I will pray for all the souls who touched my life.