Shadow Play

Robin Williams committed suicide.  Hanged himself, according to early reports.  Damn.

My neck hurts.  It's not one of those my-muscles-ache kind of hurts, nor is it one of those rub-it-and-it-will-feel-better hurts.  It is a sharp, throbbing, stabbing, intrusive, all the way to the top of my head and down to the base of my spine, nauseating, please don't make me move hurt.  My head aches from the back forward, in waves.  It started when I yawned yesterday.  Yawned.  Now I have to stretch and limber up to yawn?

I was sitting on the overstuffed lounge this afternoon, head tipped back, just trying not to cry, because I hate crying just because of a little pain.  I drifted in and out of a light doze, hearing bits and pieces of life going on here at Casa de Crazy.  Someone was listening to a documentary on Youtube, the kids were playing, the cats were happy for me to sit still so they could nest on me.  I woke up fully in the early evening.

I sat looking at shadows before me.  The sun was setting behind me, across the cul-de-sac.  Light from the waning rays filtered through the branches of the Pink Popcorn Tree (aka the ornamental cherry) and into the living room, and the wind set the leaves on the tree to dancing, which made the shadows flutter on the floor, the table, the couch.  The shadows spread as the sun sank further, until there was no light left and only a greyness remained.

I love watching the leaves dance in the wind.

The shadows will spread.  The trick is hanging on to the surety, even through the deepest doubt, that the sun will shine again, behind the clouds, through the leaves, spread its syrupy light across the floor, turn the cats into puddles of fur in the window.

So far, I have not forgotten the sun, despite frequently wondering if it has forgotten me.

I'm so sorry, Robin.  You gave me laughter countless times, and shone through the darkest days.  I wish I had known you, and could have given you shelter through the storm.  I wish you hadn't been driven that one inch too far.  I wish that you could have held on to the surety that the sun would rise again.