There was a huge tree near where Jim and I walked the dog. The bark was thick cracks. Its roots spread out at least two feet, some intertwined.
Other trees nearby were big, but smaller, which wasn’t hard.
The trees lined a field that now only had sunflower stalks, the flowers long harvested for oil.
Fido, yes we gave our golden retriever that boring name, loved to run in the paths circling the field while Jim and I sat on a bench in the middle to watch. There was a view of Mt. Blanc that we would oh and ah over, even if we’d seen it every day for years. Sometimes it was hidden in the mist, sometimes when it was clear it was like we could see every tree. Or we imagined we could.
Jim and I would discuss the day to come. We were both retired. Sometimes we would go to a movie or a museum. We’d plan lunch with either or us cooking or going to one of the local restaurants. When Fido was ready to come home, he’d come and sit in front of us.
Now I’m retired and I’ve begun to paint and I am doing a series of water colors of trees.
I had not expected Jim to die. One minute he was laughing and then he was gone.
During the first weeks after that day, I was too busy with the funeral and follow up things I needed to do. Fido stayed with our daughter in the next town. When she brought him back, he led me to the bench the first time we went for a walk. The first thing he did was pee on the tree before running down his favorite path around the field.
It was the first time I had even been there without Jim.
As I watched Fido run, I swear the tree whispered to me, it was sorry for my loss. It was probably my imagination or the wind rustling the remaining leaves, but I like to think they were talking to me and knew what they were saying.
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