Amy Kitchener's Angels Without Wings Foundation
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Going HomeI stroll down Longview and remember all the times we walked it together, your red-tipped cane probing the ground, your hand cupping my arm. You'd love it today - it's what you'd call "my kind of weather" - sunny with a penetrating warmth that stays with you for awhile. The cherries are in bloom and the maples, trunks hugged by heart-shaped ivy, overhang the roadway like the entrance to a new world. Clumps of forsythia and orange tulips dot the fenced yards and the Easter basket birdbath still rests at Beechwood Road. Do you know that Maynard had to be put down three months after you died? Or, that we buried Katrina in back of the garden since I couldn't keep her out anyway? I think you'd both approve of the rainbow trout wind chime that serves as her marker. Now, every time I stroke the cats I hear you softly say, "Kitties like to have their ears scratched." Your CB tower is still in the backyard at Utica Pike. And you wouldn't believe the size of the holly tree. Wrought iron table and chairs sit on the patio where we gathered for picnics. Tell Mom the river is up in the bottoms and the herons are fishing.
Barb McMakin
Crestwood, Kentucky |