This Moment: April 23,2012

The old dog is still panting, tongue lolling out, recovering from our walk. We went further than usual and I can see she will suffer for it. Her pain pill has yet to take effect. I do not want to admit she is too old, or that I need to leave her home tomorrow. A small anger bubbles up and I know its arrival keeps the tears locked behind a heavy door. My father's legs have betrayed him. His steps are unsteady. With every passing year, he is bending closer to the ground like a sapling in strong wind. Sometimes, I believe I can will him to his former self. I am grateful for my anger, and for the almost tears prickling my nose. The small dog is curled at my feet, eyeing my sushi rolls. A motorcycle foists it's rumble on the evening. The neighbor two houses over is mowing her lawn in the familiar criss-cross design that is patterned like woven cloth. My corkscrew willow is a muted chartreuse in the evening light. A photograph from earlier today showed two powerful men embracing and promising "never again" and I wonder how many times will I hear this promise in my lifetime. An ice chip, like a small dagger stabs my heart when I think of what is happening to the people huddled in their homes, half a world away. A small bird in the uppermost branches of the oak tree is voicing a clipped warning to birds in nearby trees. I am surprised to hear the off key tuning of a trumpet and swivel toward the street to catch a glimpse of who could possibly be practicing on the sidewalk. The trumpet and it's owner have vanished and I think perhaps I imagined it. A dark-haired man and woman, chase after their child speeding across the sidewalk on a hot wheel trike. Their laughter warms the air like an embrace.

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