(Latin: an object of wonder)
•••
And the miracles say, “We were here the whole time.
We stood right in front of you, and you stepped around us.”
—Barney Ogden, from “Confession”
•••
We put ourselves in your path all the time,
sure, sometimes disguised as late roses
unpetaling themselves at the end.
Or rocks—we love to see if you’ll stop
and peer at us, maybe pick us up like
kittens and cuddle us in your palms.
Whether you decide to take us home
and put us in a special spot, or put us
back where you found us is up to you.
Doesn’t matter to us. If we really want
to get your attention, we bring out
the flash and the sizzle—
the full-spectrum rainbow that makes
most of you stop and stare, or the fleeting
shooting star that makes you wonder
if you really saw it or not. (Hint: You did.)
Sometimes we present ourselves as
obstacles, literal and metaphorical.
Nothing like a giant boulder or tree
in your way that makes you pause, decide
how to negotiate. Miracles, baby.
It’s all in learning how to see us—
not with your mind’s eye, but with
softened gaze, maybe even closed lids,
letting the wonder of healing overcome
you, the blessing of the unexpected
appearance of a loved one (here or gone)
delight you, the phenomenon of a little
one’s grin or a dog lick or a glimpse
of a sliver of moon to remind you
that we’re here presenting you—
look! there’s one now!—
with marvels every moment
of your miraculous existence.
•••
(With thanks to Spencer’s person Felicia Tracy and in memory
of their beloved Dick Tracy—yep, that was his real name!—
garden detective, journalist, raconteur and dear friend.)


Love this! Wonder full👏👏👏👏😘
Very moving tribute, especially for all of us who’ve loved our dogs.
It reminds me of Byron’s words, inscribed on a grave monument in 1808 in remembrance of his newfie, Boatswain. I repeated them aloud in 2013, as I spread the ashes of our westie, Shasta, who left us in her sleep at age 18 and a half. Like yours, those sentiments captured perfectly how we all surely feel about the best qualities of our four-legged pals: possessed of Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, and all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. The poet continues in verse: “. . . in life the firmest friend, / The first to welcome, / Foremost to defend, / Whose heart is still his master’s own, / Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone . . .“
I cannot read such without getting misty-eyed these days. How these creatures steal our hearts!