It’s been a long time since I’ve sat at the keyboard, or with my art projects for that matter. The captured moment above marks a place in time. It is a window into things to come. The sort of moment where everything seems to shift in a split second, even as it truly all takes shape over days and months.

One sunny morning, in my tiny house in Jeffersonville Vermont, I walked upon this tender moment seeing my “son” and “daughter” carefree on our couch. Mathias MacGregor, that would be the dog, lounged peacefully in his bed on the side of the couch where I read very early before work. This was his spot after I was done. This was our routine. For nine years. He passed in 2019, one year before Covid.

Azriel Marley, that would be the cat, sat behind him, considering whether she should playfully pounce or just walk by to kiss his head before stretching at the other end of the couch. This, too, was our routine. She passed in 2020, a year to the day after her brother.

Mathias had been my husband Roderick’s companion until he passed in 2010. Letting him go was heart wrenching. He was my last and only connection to Roderick. It turned my world upside down. Or maybe inside out is more like it. Marley and I uplifted each other. She became sick when Covid hit. A mere coincidence, but bad timing nonetheless. Malaise became more serious. No vet would see her until it was too late. I said goodbye, for her sake, with rage and sorrow in my heart beyond what I had ever experienced.

Life goes on. This feels like such and easy and stupid cliché now.

Fast forward three short years. I was finally getting acclimated to living without my three soulmates, reading by myself early mornings in the bright sunlight that flooded our couch. Settling into my peaceful routine. Then, July 11.

The weather warnings had been clear. Flooding. Serious flooding, on the horizon. It rained and rained. Same scenario some years earlier, when the water rose to within 20 feet of the back of my house. I was ready then. Mathias’ harness by the door, along with a special cat carrier backpack. But we never had to leave. This time was different.

The water rose above the far end of the street by 5 am. Instinct nudged me to take off to a friend’s place, higher up. We had arranged this the day before, just in case. By 6:30 I received a text and photo from my neighbor showing my front door under three feet of water.

To be continued…