“Listen, whatever you see and love—
that’s where you are.”
― Mary Oliver, Dog Songs
i watch her from the kitchen window
her wings flash rapid bold colors then stop abruptly
as she perches and drinks.
she is well fed, in her winter weight.
we head to the dog park one day. Baker is eager, and a bit timid
as he bravely makes new friends.
a fight breaks out between two big dogs and he gets caught
in the middle. fir flies as he quickly finds comfort between our legs.
people in the park laugh it off as my mama
heart pounds. after things settle he is ready to head back to the car.
he curls up inside his kennel, safe
and content and i sneak peeks into the back seat
to check on him as he sleeps, on the drive home.
i head back to her island one day for art and wine.
on route i stand with all the other passengers
and watch as a pod of Orca whales make their way across the ice cold water
in front of the ferry. last crossing i came across
David Whyte, looping the boat. it seems ferries are magical.
i listen to several interviews with Mary Oliver,
trying to understand what made her who she was.
maybe in some way hoping bits and pieces of her way with words,
her mindfulness and beauty might rub off on me.
i re-read old essays and promise to pay more attention,
with more feeling, and not just document my life as if i am producing
a field guide.
i have carpal tunnel surgery on my other hand.
while i recover that first day, he snuggles up next to me, licks my face and hogs the bed . . .
i am beyond blessed.
LITTLE DOG’S RHAPSODY IN THE NIGHT
He puts his cheek against mine
and makes small, expressive sounds.
And when I’m awake, or awake enough
he turns upside down, his four paws
in the air
and his eyes dark and fervent.
“Tell me you love me,” he says.
“Tell me again.”
Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over
he gets to ask.
I get to tell.
have a mindful week. . .