…in the yard, two little dry leaves twirl down, a path runs empty to the door where Moki was. She was fun, and then a lot of sadness, her eyes full of words she wouldn’t say..
a void staring back. But the first thing I ever noticed when we first met, was her peace. An absence of chaos. She was our neighbor in my growing years and I never forgot to remember how beautiful her peace looked, and felt, making me want it. Moki used to be a teacher, a seamstress, local environmentalist, a mom and loving wife. Somewhere it all disappeared like human things can. The home she built became a yard for dry leaves and empty sunsets, but you never forgot how she taught you about Peace : ‘nothing missing, nothing broken.’
The last time I met before we moved and I wanted to give her my blue serving dish and blanket, she nodded, closed her eyes, held my hand tight. I knew she was praying, I couldn’t hear the words: she was only half in this world, the other half in that one where angels visibly stare down our demons. As I write this, I know all this will pass, all our degrees of existence and opinion. When you see me, I’d love for you to see I’m just one toe in this life, the rest of me in awe of Where hell shivers.
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