Because I don’t get to do it during the week, Sunday mornings are typically set aside for a slow walk around the neighborhood with Toby, our playful, nine year old cockapoo. Unlike me, he needs to sniff at every tree stump, clump of grass, and misplaced object. And, if the urge hits him just right, to re-mark his territory for the hundredth time. I guess none of the earlier times took. Or maybe he doesn’t care to remember all the hard work he undertook just last week.
I’m on a slightly different mission. I have no need to stop and smell anything, least of all the neighbor’s neatly stacked pile of refuse – the one containing those newly discarded Amazon boxes. But I do like snapping pictures with my phone. A kind of photographic journal. A reminder that these hot summer mornings are constantly being seduced by the fall to go back to wherever it is that hot summer mornings go once they leave here.
But Toby and I will be here in the fall and most of the winter. No doubt I’ll still be taking pictures. First of the leafless trees, then of some dirty piles of snow. And Toby will bring his game too. He better than anyone seems to understand that there’s always one more chance to make your presence known. Even if it lasts only for the day.
And he seems to be content with that.
Image Credit: Pixabay