It has been raining on and off since yesterday, sometimes heavy, sometimes slow gentle soaking.

So I did a necessary and timely task:  I weeded.  Lots.  There's still more to go, but I did plenty.
What I didn't count on was the complaint of my muscles:  I crouched a lot, and my rear end really feels it, and is telling me so.  

I was invited this evening to a concert of a wonderful local women's chorus---musically, a great treat.
The venue was a beautiful old church.
The music was touching, lovely, beautifully sung by a small chorus of women.

In the pew directly in front of me sat a couple, probably in their late 40's-to-mid-fifties.
He was just gently resting his hand on her hair.

I came completely undone.
This still happens, now and then:  suddenly something like that will catapault me into a state of intensely missing-Zalman.  
The simplest thing will do it, like seeing this couple so quietly and lovingly connected; then I remember sitting in other church pews at concerts with Zalman in that state of connection.  I see this couple and remember that a great portion of my life/myself has been amputated, and where my beloved used to be, beside me, now there is a void.  I miss the level on which we shared.

This time of my life is not like simply being alone; I was alone for many years.  This is alone-plus-the-absence: different.
Balance does return.  It just takes a little time.
And the beauty, both of what we had, and what there is now, is worth it.
Good night.