This Moment: 7:32 P.M. July 31, 2011

The sudden cloudburst ended as quickly as it began, a reprieve to the dog days. Sirius has one more month to punish with his cruel heat. My small dog is curled on the bed, whimpering in his sleep. The older, larger dog is on his floor pillow, grooming his foot as diligently and loudly as if she were picking a bone clean. A fly buzzes in the windowsill and Emily and Death enter and share the quiet with me. Curious, how easily visitors enter and leave the mind through the same door. A dove is cooing and I wonder about the wounded dove from the other day, that wandered toward my car as I drove carefully to a stop to avoid crushing it. The bird came to me, unafraid. My daughter placed it in the brush by the side of the road. I wished for it a gentle death. Later that evening a dove sat unmoving on the bottom step of my back stairs. I could not imaging it was the same dove from earlier. It wasn't. After a few moments, the dove flew away. In our lives we are like the dove, moving toward and away from our fears, our fate.