The way it is

This morning I had a number of errands to run, I was glad it is Spring Break and quite cold, that keeps people in first thing in the morning. But after turning off my street I saw a dog running in the road. This is one thing I’ve rarely seen here, a dog out on its own. Last summer we had a young dog run up to us on Quail Run, luckily a woman we know, I was in love with her ancient dog Willie, told us the dog lived one street over and belonged to the daughters of the man who lived there. So, an easy return.

This dog looked familiar and then I realized it was, Joy, the black and white sheltie that lives behind us. I was immediately concerned as I’ve never seen her not on a leash. She’s always with one member of the family. I pulled over and tried to get her to come, but she headed toward home, so I followed a couple of blocks and then heard her person say Joy! Come! I got back to my car and drove over to their house. Joy was just trying something new, lighting out for the territories! Of course, the husband and wife were relieved, I was glad it was just a runaway and no one was down (they are older). They have three dogs right now as they are looking after their son’s two little mixed poodle cuties while he and his family are out of the country for six months. I did note that when I was out this afternoon checking the plants around the house, I saw Joy on a very long tether.

In cat news, my next-door neighbor believes he’s been adopted by the cat that lives down the block. He’s not really pleased, but he’s also intrigued as she brought a mole and left it on his front step. So, not thrilled to have the cat hang out, but he’s been working on getting rid of the moles for a while; and his almost two-year-old son loves the cat: conundrum. (Which would be a great name for a cat.)

And it’s poetry month, day two. I’m getting some words emailed to me from Center for the Humanities at Washington University as part of their Life/Lines poetry project. Today’s words were: burgundy, river, doorway, footstep and decision. Here’s my poem:


The way it is

The river is a doorway, a place where the burgundy-sided
trout sleep, silently waving in the shadows. Boaters dip
their oars like footsteps along the liquid trail which glows green
and gold: sunlight, snake grass, yellow headed flowers
that only grow here. This decision wasn’t made
but became the way it is.

Day here, an Egret watches her reflection, still
except for the water’s tell, the vee pulsing around her leg.