This post is Part 2 of a 2-part series. Read Part 1 – Read Part 2

You know you want to read a poem right now.

At Amber and Sam’s wedding reception, everyone was crammed inside because of the rain and the rooms were all full of laughter and dancing. I’m not sure exactly why this Rilke poem seems to me to fit so well with my memory of that day. I think it’s because of the invocation of the divine in the ceremony, followed by the exuberance and intimacy of the reception. They chose bright colors for their wedding and they didn’t care if it rained and the toasts were funny and honest. I don’t know, maybe you had to be there but in any case this poem is great and it will give you something to think about while these photos load.

God Speaks to Each of Us

Rainer Maria Rilke

God speaks to each of us before we are,
Before he’s formed us — then, in cloudy speech,
But only then, he speaks these words to each
And silently walks with us from the dark:

Give me your hand.

When Gladys and Ed asked if they could include their dog in their engagement photo session, we said, “of course you can!” You may remember the lovely Alicia and Lawrence and Petey. This time the dog, who I think is named Chola, was much bigger. Too big to pick up, too big to squeeeeze! between their faces in mid-air, too big to anchor in one spot with anything as lightweight as a purse (all of which Alicia and Lawrence did with Petey). But not too big for smooches and loving cooing and the like.

After looking at these photos again, I got to thinking about the kind of love between humans that can expand to include a third, four-pawed party. This led me to read poetry about dogs, and I found the poem below, which I thought was wonderful. Especially the part about spiders breathing. I never thought about that before.

What The Dog Perhaps Hears

by Lisel Mueller

If an inaudible whistle
blown between our lips
can send him home to us,
then silence is perhaps
the sound of spiders breathing
and roots mining the earth;
it may be asparagus heaving,
headfirst, into the light
and the long brown sound
of cracked cups, when it happens.
We would like to ask the dog
if there is a continuous whir
because the child in the house
keeps growing, if the snake
really stretches full length
without a click and the sun
breaks through clouds without
a decibel of effort,
whether in autumn, when the trees
dry up their wells, there isn’t a shudder
too high for us to hear.

What is it like up there
above the shut-off level
of our simple ears?
For us there was no birth cry,
the newborn bird is suddenly here,
the egg broken, the nest alive,
and we heard nothing when the world changed.