There is a wonderful column in this morning's Spokesman Review by Debra-Lynn B. Hook of the McClatchy Tribune News Service. It speaks to the joy of stopping to smell the roses, of living in the moment and absorbing all the wonders that surround you.
I decided to devote my stroll with fuzzy feet to that end this morning. It was beautiful; the wind had subsided and the breeze held a hint of crispness. The Poplars and Aspen nodded gently in greeting as if relieved from the beating they've been taking the last couple of days. The hay in the field across the street smelled fresh and sweet. A hawk sat on top of a roll searching for his breakfast. The Meadowlarks sang their cheer.
I could hear the approaching gait of a neighbor out for his morning jog. And knew which cars were slowing down because we were in the road and which were not. The container of "bags on board" clicked against the leash housing and the click of toenails on the pavement reminded me of a chore for when the moment ended. The Killdeer shrieked their usual panic as the Finches and Bluebirds leap frogged down the fence line ahead of us.
In the back yard the water lilies were just opening in the pond as the fish gathered in hopes of an early feeding. I could hear the quiet. So could Bacchus. He rubbed that big old head of his against my leg one last time then wandered off to find some shade. He'll follow the shade until it disappears then head for the cool of the house.
There's a lot to be learned about tranquility from my fuzzy guy. He lives in the moment most of the time. A scratched ear here, a roll in the grass there. No wars, no politics, no stress, no high blood pressure. Nope. Just the moment. And if the bees aren't around he'll even smell the roses.