So here I am, before my keyboard on this fine autumn day. The leaves are turning yellow, some drifting down in front of my window. Sheba is barking excitedly at some boys skateboarding by. She has not grown tired nor used to all is before her in her six years of life. That is her gift to me. She keeps me going when I’m in neutral, when I got the blahs and think: What is the point? On those days, we head off for the park. We run by the river.
The point is dogs don’t think and dwell on all the metaphysical wherefores and why-fores of life. They are just happy if you’re happy, if they’re fed, watered, have a soft bed to lay on and a few birds to chase. Sometimes it would be good if we could look at our landscape through different frames and lenses. We might get a different view. The simple may be profound.
And if we look beyond ourselves, we might see the divine.
And if we look at ourselves, we might find the child in ourselves and that pure joy that we’ve lost somewhere along the way. We might find our way home to our hearts.