#76

The dog moves from shade to shade as the sun moves across the sky. Each darkened spot, a new space, new bugs, scents, feeling. Each spot, a moment for newness.

He lifts his nose to the air, newness again. The hidden scents of people, food, other animals, rotting, decay, life, sun, trees, plants. He knows things. He perceives the world around him. Parts of the world obscured to me.

I watch him. He, even when asleep, is attentive to me. My movements. Sometimes the shadow he lays in, is mine. And, I wonder what the dog knows about me? Things that even I don’t know about myself?

He anticipates me, knows my routines. My voice, my sounds, my scents. He knows when I’m going or coming. He is my fortune teller, my shadow. We share a space, a home, occupy it how we wish, do what we like. Share instances, adventures. But it’s the quiet, daily moments that pass in-between that mean the most.

He’s found his new spot for the next nap. His eyes fall shut in an envious way. The hot days tell him to slow down. He listens to the wind and the weather, alive to his world in a way I can only dream of.