10:25:39 AM

For the first time since Rafe’s death I can remember past his dying:

  • his smell, like pine woods and rich earth and fresh-mown hay,
    warm and wild and comforting;
  • his loping, straight-backed gait – like a cheetah,
    he loved to run;
  • his round, trusting, wide-open eyes;
  • and how he peeled back foil from
    the best carrot cake ever made
    to lick the cream-cheese frosting,
    but not all of it – not even much of it,
    but just enough to satisfy.