Loss Descriptive Writing

The lazy afternoon sun plants hot kisses on the nape of my neck as I drift up the garden path and towards the house. It's the kind of heat that dries out your skin and chaps your lips. Towing an armful of bulky paper shopping bags, I slip through the side gate, shaded by the sweet smelling jasmine that climbs up the wooden fence palings.

“Monet!” I shout, my eyes dart back and forth, surveying the empty yard. A heavy silence follows. My forehead prickles with worry when no little white dog with the smiley brown eyes hurtles across the grass to greet me, as is her usual practise.

I slide open the screen door, left unlocked, as always, and lug the groceries inside to the kitchen. As I lift them up onto the counter, the bags slip from my bony fingers, fresh fruit and vegetables bounce across
I thank them, and scan up and down the beach one last time. My heart wrenches painfully in my chest. I've been so careless. I've lost my best friend.

I suppose you'd be extraordinarily lucky to reach my age without suffering from a loss of some kind. Loss is the compensation for living such a long and full life. Dwelling on loss, however, will cause us to lose our balance. Throughout my life, I have continually remind myself this. Yet here I am, prattling on in the harsh afternoon sun. I've been deserted by my little mutt dog, who arrived uninvited on my doorstep years ago has now disappeared from my life. And in a suffocating way, it really hurts.

I turn and head home again now. With my heart heavy in my stomach, I call desperately out for Monet. My voice wobbles and cracks, swept up in the wind. The sun is sinking lower towards the horizon now. I have to find her. She is my little companion, making all my days worthwhile – even the bad ones. She sticks by my side when I tend to the garden, complete daily house chores and curl up in bed at the end of a long day. Like a furry shadow, she trails my every