October 31 – The Eve of All Saints

The Wolf rests on the knoll, listening to the morning sounds in the Meadow.

The Kitten Pack makes its noisy expedition to the reeds at the Brook, and the Siamese Patrol’s proud members process through the wildflowers, their blue eyes alert to the bumblebee perched on one tiny daisy. Jasmine examines a single grape hyacinth blooming near her sable paws.

Bob and Tex stroll with Jiggs, Shaddo, Gabie and Chloe while Jasper moves through the grasses, pursued by Bomber and Kizzy.

Bruno, Odie and Patches are digging happily under the hedge-row, the scent of lost bones and buried treasures in their noses. The three dogs murmur softly in anticipation as Heidi pads over to them to investigate. The German Shepherd mix joins them and black soil flies in all directions beneath her strong paws.

“I know we hid a bone down here somewhere!” says Odie, nose covered with dirt.

Jetta’s lovely eyes widen as the dogs dig. She lounges in the nearby clover bed with Boo Boo and McKenzie.

“Whew! They are working so hard!” whispers Jetta. Boo Boo and McKenzie smile at so much effort from the three dogs. Like all cats, they love watching others work.

Junior’s bark floats back to the Wolf as Hillies and Junior tear past the excavators, both of them mad with the morning light. Patches and The Basils are hot on their heels. Peaches, a sweet-faced beagle, looks up from a conversation with Mama Cat and laughs at them with affection.

“Yes, my mommy called me her little poochkins!” whispers Fozzie Bear, his sweet ears sweeping forward as he gossips with Clarence, a fat and funny Basset. “Mine too! Poochkins!” and the two friends giggle in the grass. Fozzie Bear rolls over, blinking at the high blue sky and the mounds of white clouds. He and Clarence grin at each other.

The Wolf smiles to himself. Now. It begins now.

The first cool breeze, tinged ever so lightly with frost, breathes over the Meadow, and the great Tree next to the Brook shivers slightly. Its leaves, a thousand shades of green, suddenly lighten in color.

Orange, vermillion, bright yellow — the colors drop from the sky, sprinkling the tops of all the trees and scattering downward. The warm shades surge through the leaves, pushing away the green. Golden veins spread through some leaves, while others shift to purple, scarlet, and mottled lemon shades in the cool air. Crisp and curling, the leaves crackle and the sounds mix quietly with the faint rattle of the cricket chorus.

Every creature in the Meadow stops, staring in wonder.

The sky burns blue, deepens, and the air transforms itself with a new slant of light into something more golden than before.

The winds shift, and the scent of wood smoke, pumpkins, apples curls up from behind the hedge-rows. The air sings with the new fragrances.

“Smoke! How can there be smoke?” asks Jiggs, and Shaddo nods, remembering the wood fire in their mama’s home. Maverick smiles, thinking about his mama and her hand on his head one fine autumn day.

“And apples…apples…” Bomber purrs happily to herself. She squeezes her eyes shut and dreams of the steaming pies that came from her mama’s oven, the warm and spicy fragrance.

The apple trees in the small orchard are suddenly heavy with the ripe fruit, and Jasper plucks a small fat apple from the grass beneath the tree, rubbing one furry cheek against the rosy globe.

Sox watches intently as the slight dip in the middle of the Meadow fills with wisps of pale mist. Green vines twine upward out of the earth, out of the silvered mist, moving across the grass. Bright orange pumpkins pop out from the vines and under the leaves, growing, large and ripe, rich in color.

Winston and Big Buc stare at them as Milo reaches one tentative paw to touch the smallest gourd. Molly stares at the swelling pumpkins, giggling with surprise. O wonderful Meadow!

The wind blows again, and the trees bow to its breath as the swirl of jewel colored leaves scud across the Meadow. Kizzy and Jasmine chase them, catching a few in their claws and dancing wildly across the lawn. Odie and Heidi gallop past, the large dog shortening her stride to match that of her little friend.

“Do you see that large hedge-row, the most distant one from us in front of the tree line?” asks the Wolf, and Sox nods, slowly, his heart pounding.

“Beyond that green hedge-row lies the place that separates this Meadow, this Life, from the human world,” and the Wolf lifts his head, his clear eyes piercing the distant scene.

“From there,” he continues, “from where the living dwell, although distant from us, we catch the scent of that world and the whispers of its voices.”

He turns and gazes across the Meadow to the great Tree, blazing with color.

“The world in which we used to live still goes on, and its joys and sorrows continue. But here, where you and I now live, we are given only the sweetness of that world as the Feast of All Saints draws near. And we celebrate Autumn and the day before that Feast in one lovely day, one delightful night, on the Eve of All Saints, All Hallows Eve.”

“Can they come for us? From that place?” asks Junior.

“They can only come for us over the Bridge, dear one, after they themselves enter the Blessed Realm,” answers the Wolf, drawing the handsome little dachshund closer to him. The one who sent Junior here will never see him again, thinks the Wolf, in this Life or any life, and his eyes flicker for a heartbeat.

The look he gives Junior is very tender.

“Oh,” and Junior curls next to his great friend. The little dog has no memory of pain or grief, only of those moments of joy and love. For Junior, there were very few of the last kind, but they shine within his heart.

The Wolf alone remembers what caused pain, sorrow, death, tragedy for the small creatures in the Meadow. He carries those harsh memories, so that they will not. And at the end of time…

Jasper’s chirrs interrupt his thoughts.

“Look! It’s pretty!” and Jasper shows the Wolf his shiny apple clasped in his paws.

The Wolf sniffs the fruit appreciatively and he smiles at Jasper. Chloe leans over to look more closely at the apple, and at the brilliant purple aster growing between Gizmo and Bob. Tex curls his fluffy tail possessively around the stem of a dandelion puff.

“What’s a saint?” asks Noodles, leaning against Butterscotch.

“A saint is one who loves. When a person is good and lives a life of compassion and service, we call them saints. The ones who will take us across the Bridge into the Blessed Realm are all saints.”

“Do you see the great Tree?” the Wolf continues. The small heads bob in concert.

“When you climb the high branches of the Tree up toward the top, you can see those you loved who are still in life. But tonight you can see them most clearly, for this is the Eve of All Saints, when the veil between that life and this one ripples, shimmers and grows thin. In their dreams, and even in their waking moments, those you left behind will see you most clearly on this holy Eve.”

“My mama? I can see my mama?”

“What about my sister?”

“Really?”

“Can doggies climb the Tree, too?”

“Can we all climb up at once?”

“Will there be room for all of us in the Tree?”

The Wolf nods. “Yes! And yes to everything!”

There are gasps, and Joshie drums his feet with excitement.

“Those who wait for us, tonight they will catch sight of your spirits, the shadows of those they have loved, moving past them. They all still miss you, even though they know they will see you again.”

He pauses, murmuring to himself, “And each one of you is such a lovely shadow to catch a wounded heart!”

Slowly the light leaves the Meadow. The luminous moon ascends, and the stars burn through the darkness around the great orb. A sweet wild wind scented with honey and wood smoke and cinnamon ripples through the grasses, and the small heads lift, noses sniffing the air in delight.

The mists rise and the stars dance in the sky as the little friends climb the gray bark and wide limbs of the great leafy Tree.

“I see my mama, and my brother!”

“Look, it’s her!”

“See, there they are, and my mama, my mama is in a cat costume — look!”

“How funny!”

“How wonderful!”

“Papa! Oh, it’s my papa!”

“My sister! Oh, she’s grown!”

“I love you!”

Across the Meadow, the Wolf gazes upward. He watches the moon caught in the interlacing branches of the great Tree, and he smiles.

The Wolf inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the fragrance of Gubbio as it drifts across to him in the night air — wood smoke, the scent of good bread and the cry of the street vendors, the soft footsteps of the night watchman. He bows his head slowly as the memories of his dear friend, his beloved Francis pass through his heart and soul. He will see his friend again.

The Eve of All Saints, All Hallows Eve, comes to the Meadow.

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“The Wolf, the Meadow, and the Bridge”

Lauretta M. Gordon – copyright 2012