Some of you will recall my completely unnatural connection to Ruby -- she was a spooky little darling who touched my soul. Why, I haven’t a clue. She just did.
Perhaps, in another life, she was my Great Aunt Yolanda, or something. Or I hers. Or she was my stern yet lovable schoolteacher, Mrs. Hornsby. Or I hers.
Well, at least now I don’t have to feel that decidedly unpleasant kick-in-the-chest I used to experience whenever I ventured into my daughter’s room and saw poor Ruby’s old bald ass desperately waddling in circles (apparently, she’d gotten too feeble to ride her wheel, so she settled for a light jog around her cage).
She was special.
The Hamster Whisperer, Part Three
In your realm, in yourself, light thoughts
Sent aloft on wisps of woody snow
And cathode-blue glow
Chase a path made of dropped apple and
Almond slivers, spectral lovers and dew
But the things you imagine, contained in glass
Skip along the walls, sniff in corners
Tangle up in the spinning wheel, yet
They give you meaning, they
Taste of sky, of sun and dirty rain
Smell of wind rushing through alien trees
Feel like divinity, like the reason for everything
Canned laughter dances along, electric comfort
For your aging soul
As you make your way through this life, alone
Save for the power of dream
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