It's not ritual. It's simply instinct.
I hold so many beautiful memories of my friend Teri here at the lake. She is a part of my story even today--six years after her death. If ever there was a life that expired too soon, it's T's. I will never understand. I'm grateful that I don't have to.
So as I sit in front of Lake J tonight, here's a poem I wrote last November in memory of Teri Hughes--my friend with the big laugh and even bigger heart.
I remember she laughed like yellow
it colored daffodils and warm honey and summertime
so loud and leaping
it lingered for some time after the fall of her breath—
which dropped like the first autumn leaf
that pirouetted to the grass
its yellow turned brown
its brown quickly crumbled
beneath the footsteps of toddlers chasing bubbles
brothers tossing pigskins
lovers kissing goodnight under the tree’s shelter
its crumble turned to dust—
and I wonder how the sun manages to find its yellow now.