The morning that my wife died, after visiting the hospice,
disoriented, disbelieving, desperate to see her,
I drove home, embarrassed that I'd cried, and fled the empty rooms
into the garden. Calmly, silently, a delicate dart
of white passed overhead - a little egret - and my grieving
paused, astonished. Only once before had she and I seen such
a bird in England as a rare migrant in the west country:
never before had I seen an egret in my neighbourhood.
I stared, unsure of the significance of the event
while the bird glided out of sight behind some trees.
Was it just a strange coincidence or something more, something
concerning soul or spirit ? Perhaps she wasn't really
dead but metamorphosed into that bird, taking pity on me,
trying to console me in her death as so often in life.
The day passed slowly in troubled confusion till sleep eased pain.
Later in the year I saw more egrets in the neighbourhood.
So just a strange coincidence then ?

Today is the sixth anniversary of the day she died
and another miserable cold and wet December day.
In the garden this morning another white egret flew past.
Another visitation of something supernatural ?
A soul at peace I hope not searching still for consolation.
Who knows ? But what about the intervening anniversaries ?
What was she so busy with that she couldn't find the time
to visit me on those occasions ? Just like a woman !

When acquaintances ask "How are you?",
you tell them "Fine", "So-so", "OK";
more honest with friends who ask the same
"Fed-up", "Pissed off", "In the dumps today".
But a caring partner knows how you feel
without you having to say.