The days when the dog, after a long hike, up mountains, round bends, through spring meadows. After I have a coffee at the top near the snow line. After his short nap and our decent, back at home, in the kitchen, cooking a quick dinner on my own, with Elbow on the radio, and the days when the dog, sitting there, waiting for a small sliver of cheese, nodding off, eyes heavy, but elegant, like a statue, tired, in the best ways, tired in the ways of achy legs, having spent an afternoon out in the open air where the water is cold and the breeze carries scents from across the valleys, French scents, Italian scents, Alps scents. The days when the dog, eyes heavy, curls into a ball on the sofa, content with life in ways that I can learn from.
#151
#151
#151
The days when the dog, after a long hike, up mountains, round bends, through spring meadows. After I have a coffee at the top near the snow line. After his short nap and our decent, back at home, in the kitchen, cooking a quick dinner on my own, with Elbow on the radio, and the days when the dog, sitting there, waiting for a small sliver of cheese, nodding off, eyes heavy, but elegant, like a statue, tired, in the best ways, tired in the ways of achy legs, having spent an afternoon out in the open air where the water is cold and the breeze carries scents from across the valleys, French scents, Italian scents, Alps scents. The days when the dog, eyes heavy, curls into a ball on the sofa, content with life in ways that I can learn from.