>plink<

It was the smallest of sounds, but so out of place

in that quiet kitchen that I looked up from the paper,

thoughts stalled in confusion. What was that?

As I crept in stockinged feet to investigate, my toe

kicked a small object on the floor. It bounced once...

>plink<

A tiny blown glass cardinal had, somehow,

launched from the windowsill out into the room

to drop onto the tile floor and land, impossibly,

unbroken.

Hmmmmm...

Now, I am the last one to believe

the current mysticism that centers

around cardinals, that they are

messengers from the other side,

the spirit of one who loves you

but is gone.

And yet...

Here on the anniversary of the day

my dearest husband died, I cannot

help but see this uncanny flight as

a sign (though not in the way a

Hallmark card might suggest).

It is a sign to pause,

to remember, to fly

back to that day when

we exchanged vows,

impossibly small words

          I.   Do.

Vows that somehow,

through time, joy, fear

and even death, remain

unbroken.