Otis always knew how to make me smile.
We came to this park every morning, always before 9 because Otis needed to pee on his favorite tree before it got claimed. He ruined all of my frisbees, bit through every one of his toys, and left his balls saturated with saliva and covered in dirt.
Better dirt than dust apparently.
We had a good thing going, me and him. We shared a simple joy together, one that peaked right here on this hill. Blended together — my days have lost their footing since he left me.
The trees look down on me. This path I follow is littered with his old paw prints. Not visible anymore, but not forgotten. Never forgotten. Auburn covers the ground now, another indication that the year’s almost up, that I’m drifting in time without him now. That it’s time to move on.
But I don’t know how. These giants are almost finished with their cycle, stick season is upon us. No one ever told me that death didn’t have to be grey but an explosion of earthly hues.
Is that rain or is it just me? I wasn’t meant to be set in stone, my leaves are allowed to fall down. Why does this feel like something I should know, that I’m relearning something that used to belong to me? The only red I ever experienced was in shades of shame.
I’ve always wondered why the willows wept but I think I’ve always known. They pity my existence, pray for my return to our ancient roots. That it’s never too late to start my fall.
This place has been waiting for me to relearn this lesson that I understood lifetimes ago. Maybe Otis was waiting too.
All of our memories are laid bare on the ground now. Theirs’ in amber, mine in tears.
