February: a good day

I stepped out into the overcast afternoon with two short dogs taking the charge, I was merely the illusion of control.  Every time that leash gets clipped on they shake, chant, and dance like a spirit has come alive within, like a type of wild devotion. I worked hard to reach behind me to lock the door as they pulled fiercely for the pavement ahead, so excited to take the lap. I finally managed to successfully lock up, adjust the leashes now changing the color of my fingers, and put on my sunglasses before we took off. The rush, the vigor, and excitement freeing us. 

We only managed to cross the street as they became fixated by the invisible attraction of smelly, enticing patches of dirt at a neighbor's house. As they devoured the earth with a joie de vivre. The walk had momentarily stopped, not for long but this stop was necessary they said.

So as we stood here to breathe in answers, they looked down and I looked up.

A tree fit for winter stood modestly here, bare boned and only surviving. To call it a tree was wildly generous but in fact true. 

At the top of this tree, was a hawk. Perched atop a naked branch, its claws secured around the hairless arm of this tall shrub.

It surprised me, being so close. My dogs were painfully unaware that anything existed beyond the treat they had discovered within the patch of grass. 

It was just us, I turned to see if anyone else could see it. The street was quiet and not a single car or person was around. I took a quick picture and tried not to stare, somehow thinking it rude. I was only here for a few minutes before the girls decided to continue their charge through their neighborhood. I waved goodbye at the bird as I was yanked forward. We walked blocks, stopped several times to scratch and sniff, and I got tangled in leashes more often than not. 

It was a nice walk, even with all the disarray of limbs and paws and the stop and go’s. As we approached our house again, the hawk was no longer there. It felt like a lie I had invented, but I had the picture for proof when my husband got home.

We went inside and continued into the evening. Me and the girls decided, yes, in fact it was a great walk, a good day.

It’s a simple moment, minutes that take up a blink in a full day.

In mere moments, minutes, and blinks, someone near is having the worst day of their life. Just as the hawk disappeared, though it flew, someone is snatched, people often holding on to memories and photos as proof of their existence. It is a valuable asset to an ambiguous search. In the vastness of moments, find joy scattered throughout and help others find theirs.

A good day is precious.