Begrudgingly, I say: “OK, OK girls. We’ll go.”
For the last half hour, they’ve been tapping my legs and
climbing up onto my right knee while I sit at my computer. Dog jowls come as
close to my own as their straining bodies will allow. Warm familiar breath
mixes with mine like a welcome kiss, an estuary. Eyes lock on for the slightest
sign of acquiescence.
I act like I’m doing them a favor but almost immediately, as
we step outside, when the cool air off the marsh envelops me, and the
early morning stillness carries its own special quiet, I know it’s the other
way around.
Walking close to the brackish water, small fish hit the
surface. We hear them more than see. An army of tiny land crabs scurry to clear
a path for us like Moses at the Red Sea.
One crow flies silently overhead, surprising me from behind,
almost too close, then a dozen more. Rare for them to be so mute.
Filling my lungs with salt air and rebirth, I’m eternally
grateful for it all.
As the sun starts to breach, I break the stillness, saying
out loud to the 8-legged team that leads the way: “Thank you, girls. This is
exactly what I needed.”
No comments:
Post a Comment