Either this dog is getting old or he’s just gotten used to the sunshine and warm nights. Taking a leisurely approach to sniffing for bugs and new growth. Sniffing  for evidence of change. He’s forgotten what it was like to have to hoof it back home in the rain. He’s forgotten how rain patter on leaves can fool you into looking over your shoulder, looking into the shadows of bushes and trees. No moon, only clouds and… no stopping for glances to the heavens. Not tonight.  He’s had it too easy, he’s become soft. Change, though, is in the air. The cool breeze tickles the leaves and soon we’ll fall.


What am I in such a rush for?

caught between the undeniable

inertia that grips me and the

desire to plow forward.

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