The violent detonation that triggered Rebel’s lamentable eternal passing echoes through Les Pierres in ways that are familiar and recognizable, yet painful and devastating, even more culminating as our mailman returned the next day to deliver the most unwanted advertising brochure and I found myself with might and main trying to pull him into a reality where it all was but an accident, horrific yes, but an accident.
His bitter tears and tragic submission – “Je serai pour toujours le tueur de votre chouchou” – touched me deeply as they were blatantly bouncing off his gentle nature and resonated my inability to truly comfort him, or myself for that matter.
Even cruelty has its curtailment and all beauty obviously didn’t suddenly vanish from our lives, albeit abridged now to a painful pendant of the past instead of the expected triumphant reference to the cheerful days when we helped out at our friends huge saffron plantation, clearly making our own current harvest fade into oblivion.
By planting these bulbs a few months ago we tried to consciously intertwine what was with what could and should ensue, so the seasonal appearance of these pretty flowers, fragrant and delicate as always, is still a welcome manifestation of movement, even while they now mostly mark this aching end, as an ornamental withal to refute the irreversibility of his harrowing death.
