On the benefit of not paying attention.


I am sitting on my deck this morning.  I look east into a small beautiful backyard.  The bright blue sky offers a perfect contrast to the green grass and tree leaves.  A red fence provides the edges of the box that I call mine.  A squirrel has taken residence in the area tormenting the dogs as it runs across the top of the fence.  It seems to stop and stick its tongue out while the dogs bark madly to scare it off.  A gentle breeze relaxes and adds a tint of cool, just enough to make the glowing warmth of spring comfortable.  There is a small pile of wood dried by winter off to one side of the yard.  I have a knife and an axe, and I consider making a fire bow.

My daughter wanders around with bubbles.  Those tiny magic globes that come into existence from no where, and return just as quickly.  Sometimes the wind picks up a few moving them out of site before they pop.  My daughter smiles, not with her lips, but with her whole being.  The simple wonder enamors her.  On rare occasion she offers the nearly religious experience of blowing to cause the bubbles to appear.  “Daddy’s turn.”

The dogs act as dutiful baby sitters.  They tolerate the “petting” that a two-year old uses to forcefully communicate affection.  Better dogs there never will be.  The German Shepherd/Sharpeis are gentle, caring, and protective.  For the first time in… time.  Now there is an interesting word.  I would say today the clocks are running slow.  At least, I hope they are.  I could use a few days of this.  No hurry, no racing about, no screaming need for technology.

You likely expect a picture.  You may hope that I can show you what this day feels like.  If what I have written did not provide a picture, then you have not paid attention.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  I say one thousand well chosen words are better than the movie.

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