on the very last visit, (the one before the call and the rush to her bedside to wait)
she said, “why don’t you just take it,’ and pointed to the teeny golden shape behind glass on a shelf that she knew i eventually wanted.
(she must have somehow known her time was near)
an elephant, one of many gifted to her over the years by those who knew she had lived in a village in rural south asia
and loved these gentle giants back when they would amble through the village, and one must be aware that tigers still roamed free.
yet this pachyderm was made in a different exotic place, formed with the shells of bullets from a despot’s terrible reign.
it was repurposed and brought by her son (who later became my husband) and treasured ever since —a reminder that love always, always conquers hate.
and now it sits near my bedside, next to the photo of us mere minutes after he got down on one knee to propose to this widow in south asia, but in an urban place
where we later lived and rubbed shoulders with women inexcusably harmed and were honoured to watch them remember that love conquers hate every time.
—tapestry of life
heather pound 2025
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i hope there’s a heaven for cats like you. the ones who arrived when needed most, and stayed a friend through thick and thin.
who made her laugh by day and slept by her side at night (even though at times you’d wake and find a mouse to bring inside, crashing around her room)
who welcomed her home, a safe haven, a furry little friend with so much conversation for a cat. the way you always loved her most.
and since you’re gone (and four years is far too few) i hope there is a heaven for cats like the one next door who has taken it upon itself to comfort my grown-up girl, bolting in her door, asking for affection, making her smile through tears.
maybe someday in that heaven you’ll meet and remember her.
heather pound 2025
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peace is not crafted in marbled halls of power. it’s not the purview of the wise, nor the product of a boardroom strategically drafted.
peace is a candle, just a humble flame that sparks one-by-one by one within the hearts and minds of those who seek the quiet and clear the mess, who focus on what’s better, provide the space—and wait.
it is the gift of a heart that listens, a mind with intention, a scaffolding of love.
and i have heard the desperate-hearted say that while joy would be amazing, they could contentedly live long if they simply had peace.
today is filled with wind and rain in a season meant for sun. but yesterday i spent some time communing with trees trying to recall if they were maple, oak or elm and was pleased when i identified birch by its trunk.
and when the path went through native new zealand bush, there were two feathered tails, chirping and flicking their fans from branch to branch as if i wasn’t there, and a tui perched unbothered not a meter from my face black with iridescent blue flashing in the sun.
but even on this stormy day, i looked out my kitchen window and saw a single sunflower peeking bravely over the fence from my neighbour’s garden and he doesn’t even know i adore their golden rays.
i really should expect it by now, but each and every year it takes me by surprise as i unwrap the little trumpeting angels carved with love and hung upon ribbons of scarlet and place them on the tree
one for each of my family, our names scrawled on the bottom in my father’s own hand.
[and in that moment grief arrives with her bittersweet bands and wraps them around my chest as i remember him.]
and am reminded how i took them to calcutta and purchased a tiny tree simply for them because we had no extra space when our youngest was only seven
and i remember his giggles and grins and how he would climb onto laps often
my littlest one who’s still here but is grown and understandably is not to be cuddled often.
[and in that moment grief arrives with her bittersweet bands and wraps them around my chest as i remember him.]
then i think of my other babes too, grown up and off on their own, three more sets of eager, small hands that would decorate the tree
adoring who they currently are, but missing what used to be.
[and in that moment grief arrives with her bittersweet bands and wraps them around my chest as i remember them.]
and i breathe and reflect, isn't it marvellous to have precious ones to miss. memories stored up to treasure, nostalgic in times like these?
and i would never trade the ache right now for love to have never been....
then while the bands of both bitter and sweet flex and stretch on repeat, i plug in the cable to light up the tree
and the angels carved by my father’s loving hands catch the light once again.
heather pound 2025
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i forgot to pause and watch the leafy palm fronds as sea breeze blew and made them wave towards passing birds chorusing the dawn.
and i neglected to notice the way sunshine warmed my hungry skin in spring, or to breath in slow the fragrance of rain mingling with earth.
and yet i remember wondering why the world had turned grey there for a bit.
you know what it’s like to be shaken. there were days and days you’ve been unsure when you’ve walked through fire, danger nipping heels
yet even then, even in those moments something stood up in your heart, a line not to be crossed, a barrier you would not allow to be broken
when a force arose and said, no. not this. enough. no further.
i know for a fact, my friend that this—is courage.
but remember that the times you’ve felt the sweetest kiss of spring well up within your soul and words of beauty escaped your lips with joy unbridled, waterfalls of overflowing
you may not know it yet, but leaning into this even when you know that darkness all too well exists— this is courage too.
courage resists the dark but is equally detectable by participating in the light
Heather Pound 