Believe It Or Not
This face can be trusted,
to keep my deepest secrets, and he knows them every one - including where the Christmas presents are hidden.
I can trust him to come to my side each and all times I call him, even when he knows there’s a cat in the garden.
He can be trusted to come face to face with an affectionate toddler who is determined to kiss him right on the lips. Forever tolerant, he allows this indignity with a sigh as his only complaint.
I trust him to accompany me to lunches and meetings - to yarn shops, to libraries, to concerts, to church. He always behaves like the most friendly gentleman.
He will guard me on dark windy evenings when The Songwriter is far out of town, standing on his furry back legs to look out each window, stopping to listen at each heavy door, before trotting off to sleep by my side.
He will gladly keep my feet toasty warm whilst I’m knitting, or reading, or writing, or dreaming. And he can always be trusted to jump up beside me in bed when it storms ... just to keep me from being scared, don’t you know.
He will cheerfully come along with me to the beach or the mountains, smiling and pleased to be there. He’ll run by the sea and climb all the hills, with the widest grin on his furry white face. But he’ll always be happiest coming up his front stairs, always so glad to be home.
If I find myself depleted - a bit less stout of heart and unsure of my spunk - he will stick closer to me than any brother, with his brown eyes watching closely, and his furry head resting on my knee.
When my thoughts become cloudy with the state of the planet - the thinning ozone, the sadness, the hate - I look down at that face and I smile in the knowledge that this one sweet, happy spirit is well cared for and loved. And it helps.
And though he might look mischievous in that photo above, I know I can trust kind Edward to take good care of my heart, for he’s owned it from the first day we met.
