For Cedwyn

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

I write these too often, it suddenly seems.

The little one in the photo above is for you, Cedwyn. Oh, hell, maybe she is you.

Blond to ash brown in color, her fluttering wings banded by, yes, brilliant orange. Darting hither and yon, all bubbling energy and joy, drinking deep of nature's nectar and spreading pollen far and wide at lightning speeds.

Sound familiar?

I didn't know until a short time ago that you were ill. I'd intended to track you down online to offer support, good wishes, prayers if you want them. And, as usual, I got busy, sidetracked by the grind of mundanity, until this morning I got the current news.

I'm sorry for being AWOL, darlin'. I'm sorry for this whole damn sorry thing, for this unfair, unwarranted, unjust and unjustifiable thing you're undergoing. [My Senior Honors English teacher, in all her terrifying formidableness, would kill me for saying "thing," but dammit, it fits.] And I'm sorry to an indescribable degree that there isn't a damn thing I can do to help.

Except give you a hummingbird moth. A pixelated one.

It was the image that came to mind for you first thing this morning. I've since learned elsewhere that you love butterflies, and I have some shots of them, too, but this still speaks your name to me. I hope it's close enough.

Just before sundown, I went outside, cedar and eagle feather in hand. I burned the cedar in our way, and sent the smoke your direction, to carry our prayers and hopes and blessings to you, and to Spirit on your behalf.

I've spent much of the day in tears, much of it finding myself unconsciously, involuntarily begging the forces and fates that have dominion over these things for a reprieve.

But in the end, it's not what I want that matters. Nothing anyone wants, except for one person, matters in the slightest. All that matters is you, what you want, what you need, what you want to happen. If you want me to pray for that miracle . . . honey, you got it, with everything I've got. If you want to rest, then that's what I want, too, and we will simply weep and send you our love on the river of our tears.

But whatever path you choose, know this: We love you, Cedwyn. We are here for you. And whatever path you choose, here or there, I have no doubt that it will be wholly yours: hovering, darting, spreading joy on brilliantly-colored wings in full flight.