Cedar Sunday

The moon rose as a clear sliver in the east. floating low before dawn in the dark sky. Now, in these few days since the autumnal equinox, there is a calm chill that surrounds me when I walk out onto the front porch to taste the start of Sunday.

The morning coffee is liquid delight, its intense flavors jarring my sleepy senses into daytime awareness. I plan my day.

Pick the raspberries. Make eggs with onion and summer squash and feta for breakfast -- something hot and with protein. Pack a daybag -- fresh coffee for Ed and me, knitting to keep my hands busy, raspberries for Ed. Head to the hospital by nine to keep Ed company for another day.

This pneumonia thing stops one up short. My morning coffee buddy, my dear husband, is hooked up to someone else's lifelines, which is where he should be, but yet, not in a normal place.

Where did it come from, this phantom bacteria (is it a bacteria? a virus? both? do we really know that?) that fells grown men and erases human life? The science of it all is baffling at times, yet so fascinating. Each drug administered to quell the bug has yet another effect, like a maze puzzle or an "if this, then that" logic equation that seems to have no end.

Our children and grands come today. The sight of their faces and warmth of embraces will bring a nourishment unlike any other. It feels as if today I can turn the corner and begin thinking about leaving the halls of pneumonia and walking toward the parking lot of life. Maybe that will be the case.

If so, there will once again be time to get out the camera and see life up close again. To sense the fragrance of rain on leaves, the shine of wild grapes amidst the cedar boughs. To smell the coffee and love life and my husband, more than ever.

Copyright 2011
Wanda Hayes Eichler