“Downward Dog”

Closed Leaf,
my nose in your smell on the mat.
Dog hair where
we did doga—dear departed.
A sigh, a sob.
I look at you snoring on the sofa.
Thirteen years.
I must stop grieving you
before you’re gone.
Ariele M. Huff

I’ve been told no one can define love, but I think the opposite, that everyone can and does, every day.
    When we talk about love over fifty, pets are a big part of that. Of course, they are at every age for some people. But so many of us—when left by spouses and children—don’t have the desire or energy to find another mate or lover. Sole companions many times, our cats, dogs, birds, fish, snakes, pigs, horses, or chickens become our lifelines to love. They provide touch—so precious. They listen when we talk, watch us, and count on us.
    In jails, prisoners turn to wild birds, mice, rats, whatever will come close, whatever will make some kind of contact. In the prison of depression, illness, lack of mobility, we discover other things to comfort us: pets, plants, television, social media. And then, we love them, it, those with an affection borne of propinquity—and more. With an affection that recognizes the need to feel affection that overreaches rules and custom.
    One day, my mother had a special fly—visiting her as she wrote. She saw intelligence and felt connected—a kindred soul buzzing through the veil of tears.
    May you find and enjoy loving something living today.