PEEK-A-BOO

 

I love a good game of peek-a-boo…it’s quite simple but it’s excitement is immense…all you need are your two hands, your face…and a baby’s innocence.

You hide your face behind your hands…you’re gone…the baby doesn’t know what to do…you remove your hands and the baby laughs as you say peek-a-boo.

It’s the first game you play with your baby…perhaps the first time you realize how your life will never be the same…and you play it over and over and over again…until it gives way to other games.

I remember playing with my children and grandchildren…I remember the time and place…I remember not giving a second thought…that they might be laughing at my face.

But I don’t remember, as a baby, my parents playing peek-a-boo…then again…I was a baby…and how many babies do?

When I take a moment to stop…to pause and think it through…I can’t remember being on the receiving end in a game of peek-a-boo.

Until yesterday on our morning walk…at the marina…by the sea…when a baby manatee decided…he’d play peek-a-boo with me.

Since the circumstances were a little different…after all he was swimming in a pool…we played this game of peek-a-boo by baby manatee's rules.

He’d hide beneath the water…then pop up for a second or two…I imagine if manatees could talk…he’d be saying peek-a-boo.

I was surprised the first time I saw him…and laughed without inhibition or shame…and every time he’d peek-a-boo…my reaction was the same.

I’d search the water wondering…where he went…wondering what to do…then laughter would erupt every time he’d peek-a-boo.

We played our game for a while…and when I finally bade the baby manatee adieu…

I thanked him for letting me be on the receiving end…in his game of peek-a-boo.

F A M I L Y

 

I remember a teacher in grade school saying, “Tonight for homework here’s what I want you to do…draw a picture of your family and then tell me what family means to you.

Over the years (thankfully) I’ve lost the memory of the exact picture that I drew…but I do remember writing F A M I L Y- means Father And Mother I Love You.

You see, as a child back in grade school the world looked much simpler to me…I was sure a mom and dad and my brothers is what made a family.

For a while, growing up, that was my understanding…my position…until I realized that F A M I L Y has so many different definitions.

I’ve seen families with single parents…just a mom or just a dad…where everyone was happy with the one parent that they had.

I’ve seen families where the parents have died…or given up…said…I can’t…where the children were being raised by their grandparents, uncles or aunts.

I’ve seen families with adopted children…with instant sisters and brothers…I’ve seen families with two dads and families with two mothers.

And in a world that is still filled with mysteries …. Still brimming with miracles and surprises I’ve seen families with parents of all different colors, shapes and sizes.

Why I’ve even had friends throughout the years…friends who have been so close to me that I see them as my brother or sister…I consider them family.

The older and wiser I become…I realize how better off this world would be…if every person thought of every other person…as part of their family.

Today if I was asked to draw a picture of my family…I’d draw the Earth from up above…and when asked what F A M I L Y means to me…I’d simply answer…LOVE.

FULL MOON

 

The moon was round and bright this morning…and I can tell you from experience…this ain’t no bull…how crazy things seem to happen…when the moon is full.

I was a teacher and my mom was a nurse…careers that served us well…but when the moon was full the night before…oh the stories we could tell.

The world can be a confusing and mysterious place…as anyone can see…but the full moon seems to add a little more to its confusion and mystery.

Take this morning for instance…for who would I happen to meet…on my morning walk…but a rabbit in the street.

That in itself is not odd…I see rabbits almost every day…but as I got closer and closer to him…he did not run away.

In fact…while he sat we had a conversation…in the moonlight his fur was glistening…Okay…I did all the talking and he did all the listening.

I thought the conversation was going well…but he must’ve gotten bored with what I had to say…because after listening intently for a while…he quickly hopped away.

A little further on my walk who should I happen to meet…but a coyote…yes a coyote…running down the street.

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a coyote in all the years I’ve walked…and I admit I’m a little thankful….he didn’t take the time to talk.

As I watched the coyote run by…I got to thinking from where I stood…how I was glad I saw the rabbit early…and hoped the coyote never would.

As I walked on by the hospital…who did I happen to meet…two birds singing a beautiful song…in a tree next to the street.

Which made me wonder as I looked at the hospital…under the moons ever-brightening dome…were these birds just out there singing…or angels singing somebody home.

I love walking in the morning…I hope it never gets old…

and I especially love walking when the moon is full…

to see what mysteries unfold.

IMAGINATION

 

His dad did not die a rich man…at least not materially…

but he left him something more endearing…a lasting memory.

His dad taught him how to imagine…how to imagine BIG…and small

and his imagination turned out to be one of his greatest gifts of all.

Together they’d wrote poetry…it was the best of times…

imagining silly stories…finding words that rhyme…

He was not surprised when his dad bequeathed him his old wooden ladder…rickety and patched…and not surprised to find, on the bottom rung, a note his dad attached.

‘Imagination is a gift,’ it read...‘cherish it everyday...

at times in life, when you seem lost..it will help you find your way…

I leave you my old wooden ladder…use it to climb up to the moon…

or to the clouds where you can watch the snow gently floating down in June.

Use it to climb atop a whale…imagine riding him out to sea

Use it to tame a fire-breathing dragon…or have a conversation with a tree.

My hope is that you’ll never forget the fun he had while rhyming…

And his ladder will be a reminder…to let your imagination do the climbing. 

He thinks of his dad quite often while in the clouds imagining the snow gently floating down in June

And he imagines his dad is smiling…

every time he climbs his ladder to the moon.

ALL KINDS OF MAGIC

 

Once they arrived she turned her children loose…finding a tree she could safely watch them from behind….there is magic everywhere she tells them…go see what you can find….

They smile…then they wave…then they take off…ready to explore…ready to find the magic…as they’d done so many times before.

They examine the grass and the ground while on their hands and knees…they investigate the weeds…they smell the flowers, climb the trees.

They turned their noses to the breeze…search under rocks…dunk their hands into the babbling brook…and just as Mom predicted…there was magic everywhere they looked…

All the time their mom is smiling…remembering when it was she on her hands and knees…searching for the magic with her mom behind the trees…

And she thinks…when she was a child how she loved searching for the magic…as many children do…but as a mom…watching her children search for magic…is a kind of magic too.

A DRIFTWOOD TREE

 We couldn’t help but notice her…on the sand…washed up by the sea…stretched out in the sun…what remained of a driftwood tree.

I wondered how she found her way here…naked on the shore of our state park…Did the incessant waves on her journey strip away her bark?

I had so many questions for this lonely driftwood tree…How long have you been drifting?…Did you travel across the sea?

What started you on your journey?  How’d you end up on this sand?

Are you from a nearby island…or from a far off distant land?

Was it frightening on the ocean…once that enormous wave you caught?

Have you enjoyed the freedom….of not being rooted to one spot?

What’s it like to take a trip with destinations undefined?

How long have you been drifting?

Do you miss the trees you left behind?

Have you met other trees along the way?  Were you able to make friends?

Are you heading out tomorrow or is this where your journey ends?

I asked her all these questions…but of course she did not answer me…

just another illustration of the mysteries of the sea.

One question was answered however…for on another day as we walked along the beach at dawn…when we reached the spot where we first saw her…the driftwood tree was gone.

A PENGUIN WALKING

 

Recently I was blessed to watch a penguin walking…my eyes followed him for a while…and I realized, the more I watched him…the more his walking made me smile.

As he waddled in his tuxedo with his own peculiar style…and grace…I began to wonder how many other simple things in life have brought a smile to my face.

The moment I began to think about it…from my mind examples flew…so I thought I’d catch the ones I could and write them down for you.

When I look at my bald head in the mirror and realize…I don’t need a comb…children praying…a sunrise…a rainbow…welcoming a soldier home.

Anytime I see the ocean…a mountain…or the trees…flowers in bloom that welcome into their petals the butterflies and the bees.

Finding faces in the clouds before they change as they float across the sky…the chicken dance…a baby laughing…watching paper airplanes fly.

Finding money in my pocket…listening to the honking sound of geese…twins…triplets…quadruplets…an old hippie saying…Peace.

The perfect cookie fresh out of the oven with its aroma sweet and strong…wearing silly birthday party hats…my first kiss…my favorite song.

A child’s artwork…you get the picture…but it’s time for me to stop my talking…

and allow you to find your own inspiration…

that begins with…a penguin walking.

A DAY TO CELEBRATE

 

Earth Day…a day to celebrate our planet…her gentleness…her power…to marvel at her oceans…her mountains…her valleys and her flowers.

Her islands, her fields, her meadows…her rivers, plains and trees..her air we breathe…her water we drink…the mystery her seas.

A day to celebrate her waterfalls…her sunrises…those shadowy silhouettes….that form across the sky as the sun’s about to set.

To think about her rainbows, ladybugs, crickets, spiders (yes spiders), bees and butterflies…the shapes and colors of her clouds as they float across the sky.

And we can’t forget her animals…those that crawl, fly, swim and stand……the myriad of creatures who share her sky, her seas…her land.

The Earth is special to us all…from the moment of our arrival…

she is vital…she is crucial…she’s fundamental to our survival…

So today is the day to praiser her…to laud…to commemorate and tout her…because, when you stop and think about it…we could not exist without her…

Which makes one wonder…

If she is that important to us…

from the moment of our birth…

perhaps every day we should take the time…

to celebrate our Earth.

OLD ENOUGH

I remember when I was young…seeing people kissing, hugging, holding hands and asking, “Dad, what’s that all about?” He said, “That’s love son…someday you’ll be old enough to understand.”

I remember his stories about the war…he fought in Europe…another land…and asking “Dad, what’s that all about?” He said, “That’s hate son…some day you’ll be old enough to understand.”

I remember falling in love…the hugging…the kissing…the holding hands…and thinking Dad was right…I’m finally old enough to understand.

But when it comes to hate…and war…and killing…people dying by another’s hand…at 68 if my dad was alive today I’d ask him, 

“When will I be old enough to understand?”

 

A BABY'S EYES

 

Some people look to the heavens for miracles…they search the clouds…the skies…

for me…when I want to see a miracle…I look into a baby’s eyes.

When I need a little boost…a bit of encouragement…some relief from sorrow or strife….a baby’s eyes remind me of the miracle of life.

It’s not only the way a baby looks out at me that makes my heart begin to spin…it’s also all the things I see…when I am looking in.

I see strength and I see courage…I see a willingness to learn.

I see wisdom in a baby’s eyes…as my gaze they happily return 

I see eyes that will grow with knowledge absorbed throughout the years 

I see a lifetime filled laughter…I see a sprinkling of tears.

Yes, I am constantly amazed in a baby’s eyes at all the miraculous things I see…

I see innocence…and beauty…I see magic and purity.

I see a future just beginning…sometimes it leaves me numb…

as I see wonder…and possibilities…and the promise of things to come.

For I know one of the wonders in a baby’s eyes…one perk…one benefit…one plus…

is how, when we are looking into their eyes…they are looking out at us.

And I hope when babies do the looking…when into our eyes they stare

they will find our love, our acceptance and our kindness waiting for them there.

From this they will learn an invaluable lesson…as they continue each day to grow

which will be a great comfort to them…wherever, in life, they go..

They will learn…whenever they want to see a miracle…

they won’t have to search the heavens…

Instead they would be wise

to find the nearest baby…and look into their eyes.

THE HAPPIEST WORDS

 

I was thinking about all the happiness I’ve experienced in my life…all the joy and laughter…and then…I began to wonder if some of the happiest words ever spoken aren’t….Do You Remember When?

Do you remember when we were kids?  Do you remember all the fads?

Do you remember all the trouble we got into?  Do you remember all the fun we had?

Do you remember the day we met?  Do you remember what was going through your head?  Do you remember the day we fell in love?  Do you remember the day we wed?

Do you remember when our children were young?  Do you remember all the places we traveled to?  Do you remember all the foods we ate?  Do you remember all those different views?

Do you remember when you first saw snow? Do you remember when we got cable?  Do you remember when all the chairs were filled…around our dining room table?

Do remember this movie?  Do you remember that song?  Do you remember the games we played?  Do you remember celebrating all those holidays?  Do you remember all those birthday cakes you made?

I think what gives these words their happiness…a happiness beyond compare…is not only the memories they evoke…but how those memories were shared.

For It does’t matter if we’re remembering something huge…or a memory quite small…memories we share…are the happiest memories of all.

How lucky we are to have the ability to be reminded of our happiness…again and again and again…every time we sit down with family and friends and ask the question…Do you remember when?

THE PHYSICS OF HOLDING HANDS

 

May we bet blessed to understand…

what peace there is in holding hands…

be it with our partners

our friends

our daughters

or our sons

If we’re holding hands with one another…

we can’t be holding guns.

WHY WERE BUTTERFLIES CREATED?

 

As I watched her flutter…then perch upon a flower…I found myself infatuated…and I began to wonder why on Earth…were butterflies created?

Perhaps they were created to make us all aware…there is magic in the world…and beauty everywhere.

Perhaps to show us even the tiniest creatures have the ability to shine…and that all beauty is in metamorphosis…(it keeps changing over time).

Perhaps to remind us it is from within our patience…where our hopes and wishes spring…and that we will never learn to fly…unless we spread our wings.

Perhaps they were created to remind us life is short…to help us realize that if that’s the plan…while we’re alive we should make friends with as many flowers as we can.

Perhaps to remind us there can be peace in the world…if only we were wise…for I imagine there would be no wars if we only had armies of butterflies… 

Perhaps to show us since the butterfly makes no sound…there is no butterfly song…no call…that silent beauty just might be…the most beautiful beauty of all.

As I write about how beautiful they are…

how unassuming…

now demure…

it should be obvious I have no idea why butterflies were created…

but I’m sure glad that they were.

WHEN THE STREETS ARE WET

 

There is one kind of beauty in a morning walk illuminated by the moon..and yet…there is a different kind of beauty walking after a rain…when all the streets are wet.

The streets take on a glow…one you never see at noon…the shadows seem to shimmer in light reflected from the moon.

There is a freshness in the air…a coolness in the breeze…as it carries with it raindrops it has shaken from the trees.

Still enough raindrops remain upon the trees…those unable to take flight…giving the trees a feeling of Christmas…as they sparkle in the night.

Age seems to fade away…as you breathe the misty air into your lungs…as you splash around in puddles…like you did when you were young.

If you listen to the crickets…the owls…the nightingales…you find it difficult to decide…if you are hearing more sounds than usual…or if they’re just amplified.

You stop a moment…look up…and give thanks…grateful you’ve been allowed…to watch the moon, the stars….the planets…playing hide and seek among the clouds.

And you pause as you’re walk is ending…trying to remember everything because you don’t want to forget…

the sights

the sounds

from your morning walk…

when all the streets are wet.

CASTLE IN THE SAND

 

It’s not uncommon when walking on the beach to smile when we see a castle in the sand…often we will find it nestled where the water meets the land.

For we know from experience…if we use only sand or only water…the castle will not stand…we know they need to work together to form a castle in the sand.

And we know, although it is possible for one person alone to build a castle in the sand…so much more beauty and joy is built into the castle…when friends and family lend a hand.

And we see how some castles are quite simple…others elaborate…others grand…yet we marvel at the beauty of every castle in the sand.

And we know we must enjoy every moment in the construction of our castle in the sand…because…eventually…time and all her vestiges…will return our castle to the land.

Perhaps that’s why we smile…because of all we’ve come to understand…every time we walk along the beach…and see a castle in the sand..

VOICES IN MY HEAD

 

I was once taught it was crazy (at least that’s what my Psychology professor said) for a person…any person…to hear voices in their head.

I understand the lesson my psychology professor was conveying…but I also know it all depends on what those voices might be saying.

I hear the voices of my parents as they were helping me to grow…I hear the voices of our children and grandchildren from not so long ago.

I hear the voices of my family as we celebrate a special day…I hear the voices of many a friend whom I’ve met along the way.

Some voices I hear help guide me…as they were meant to do…other voices, quite simply, I just love to listen to.

Whether these voices are giving me counsel…or allowing me sweet reveries…they have become my sense of right and wrong as well as a link to my memories.

Listening to these voices I’ve learned the world is not as black and white as my psychology professor said…

and that you don’t have to be crazy…

to hear voices in your head.

FRIENDS

 She knew her friend was hurting…despite brave attempts to hide her pain…despite her efforts to be sunny…she couldn’t stop the rain.

But her friend saw through her sadness…she could see the suffering in her friend’s eyes…because once a friend becomes a friend…a friend’s sorrow is difficult to disguise.

When she saw how her friend was suffering…she began to suffer too….wanting desperately to help…unsure of what to do.

For no one…not even a friend knows when or how another friend’s pain and suffering will end…and so she thought…the best thing she could do…was simply…be her friend

So she offered her friend her friendship…offered to travel with her on this journey…no matter how long…how difficult…how rough….

and she could see by the smile in her friend’s eyes…

her friendship…was enough.

A MOTHER'S LOVE

 

A baby! What a remarkable creation…I remember our first night together…how I could not help but stare…thinking how…only a day ago…he wasn’t even there.

Thinking back on how…exactly…this moment came to be…wondering how something so beautiful…began his life inside of me.

Asking myself as I held him…looking down on him from up above…is it possible…is it even conceivable…to so quickly fall in love?

When I felt the softness of his skin…the roundness of his head…his ears…his nose…his mouth…I had to stop myself from weeping…as…for the first time in both our lives…I watched my baby sleeping.

I remember thinking to myself…is there anything more beautiful…more heavenly…more innocent…more sweet…and then he moved his little hands…and kicked his little feet.

I put my hand upon his chest to calm him…and there I let it linger…soon his entire baby hand had found its way around my little finger.

And as he held on to my finger…I found myself hoping he’d never let it go…wishing this moment could last forever…yet…knowing he will grow…

Knowing I will do my best to keep him safe from sorrow and from harm…

Knowing there will come a day…when I can no longer hold him in my arms.

But I was not sad or worried at that moment…as I held him and stared at him from up above…because…as inconceivable as it sounds…at that moment…I understood a mother’s love…

I understood it on the day he was born…yes…even way back then…

how each day…

as he grows a little older…

I will fall in love…again.

HER WORDS

 

“Excuse me.” The young boy said to the poet, “If you don’t mind me asking…where do you find your words?”

The old poet smiled at the young boy…”Sometimes…” she said, “they’re in the voices of the birds.”

“Sometimes they’re with my friends and family…sometimes on strangers in a crowd…sometimes they rise up with the morning sun…sometimes they’re drifting on a cloud.”

“Sometimes they’re on a ladybug, a butterfly…or a bee…sometimes they’re floating on the breeze…sometimes they’re high up in a tree.”

“Sometimes they fall with the leaves in Autumn…sometimes with the Spring flowers they seem to grow…Sometimes they’re stretched out on a sandy beach…sometimes they’re playing in the snow.”

“Sometimes they’re on the wings of love…Sometimes on the shoulders of pleasure or pain…sometimes they’re left behind by some animal…sometimes they fall from the sky with the rain.” 

“Sometimes they crawl out of the forest…sometimes out of the darkness…they emerge…sometimes they run so fast I have trouble keeping up…as out of the ocean waves…they surge.”

“You ask where I find my words.” She said smiling at the young boy, “I hope by now you see…I do not find the words I write…they find their way to me.”

A BIRD CAUGHT IN THE RAIN

 

From the safety of his room…watching raindrops sliding down his window pane…he noticed a bird…perched on a branch…with no protection from the rain.

The more he watched…the more he thought…that bird needs caring for…so he put on his raincoat…grabbed an umbrella…and headed for the door.

“Where are you going with that umbrella?” His mom asked.  He said, “Don’t worry Mom…it’s not for me…It’s for a little bird…caught in the rain…whose sitting in our tree.”

And she could not help but smile…as raindrops inched slowly down her window pane…as she watched her son…holding an umbrella over a bird caught in the rain.

And she thought…how wonderful is a child’s innocence…it has it’s own beauty…it’s own rhyme…and how endearing is that innocence…whose only enemy…is time.

And she found herself praying that in him this innocence would never wane…as he waved to her while holding an umbrella…over a bird caught in the rain.

HER BEST TEACHE WAS THE WIND

 

“Did you have a favorite teacher, Grandma?” Her granddaughter asked…and immediately Grandma grinned.

“Why yes…my favorite teacher…” she said, “has always been the wind.”

Seeing the confusion on her granddaughter’s face she said, “Perhaps I should explain…there’s so much we can learn from the sun…the wind…the rain…

You see, the Earth and the sky have many teachers spread out from coast to coast…but the wind has always been my favorite…it’s from her I’ve learned the most.

I find adventure in the wind…in the different ways she kisses my face…in all her unseen beauty…in her strength…and silent grace.

How quickly life can change is something she helped me understand…as I watch her switch directions…or walk along the shifting sands.

She’s taught me change isn’t always bad…to treat it with affection…because sometimes in the winds of change…we can find a new direction.

She taught me if I listen closely…I can her her singing songs…she taught me how to bend so I won’t break…when her winds are blowing strong.

She taught me on those calm days…days when her gusts are done…If I want to create my own wind…all I have to do is run.

She taught me how to ride the wind…every time I fly a kite…and how to enjoy the hidden mysteries she bring with her at night

In the Autumn as I watched the leaves falling from the trees…she’s shown me how sometimes you have to let go…in order to be free.

Yes, I have found my comfort in the teachings of the wind and I know, wherever I may roam, when my time on Earth is over…the wind will call me home.”

Later that day the mother asked the Grandma as her daughter she was viewing..

“Look at her running back and forth…what do you think she’s doing?”

The Grandma watched her granddaughter for a while…then turned to her daughter and grinned…I believe that’s just your daughter…creating her own wind.

THE ART OF PARENTING

 

I think of parenting as an art…parents are artists without constraints…whose children are blank canvases on which to apply their paint.

We remember how we also started as a blank canvas…years ago…and thus…we paint ideals and morals and values on our children…as our parents painted them on to us.

Around the time we’re happy with the painting we have styled…other artists with their own paints and brushes begin to paint upon our child.

Aunts and uncles…friends and neighbors…some who might not even be aware…add a splash of color to the canvas…a line…a shadow…here and there.

As more and more people on our painting lend a hand…we notice it begins to change from the painting we had planned.

But as the painting slowly begins its subtle transformation…we appreciate the artistry of this new creation.

Then there comes a day…it happens fast…so often it seems to rush…when the child…no longer a child…now controls the brush.

We smile…remembering our own life…and stand to the side…with no complaint…reminding our child…when they need us…we will always be ready to paint.

Knowing most of our painting is over…and how we painted with our heart…we sit back and we smile…enjoying beauty of our art.

At the same time we’re appreciating the artwork…the beauty we helped create…with paint and brush at the ready…patiently…we wait…

For the next blank canvases to arrive…when we, with no constraints

will again pick up our brush…knowing we have grandchildren to paint!

THE INTRICACIES OF THE GAME

 

Another baseball season begins and as teams vie for fortune and for fame…I’m reminded of the time I tried to teach my children….

THE INTRICACIES OF THE GAME

It was years ago when we took our children to the ballpark on a bright and sunny day.

We wore baseball caps, sat in the stands and watched grown men at play.

We’d been sitting for a few innings when I heard my daughter exclaim,

“Daddy, this is boring...what do you like about this game?”

It seemed at their young age my children didn’t share my baseball adoration…and I was sure they weren’t quite ready for a lengthy explanation.

As we basked in the sunshine eating hot dogs with ketchup and mustard on our buns…I could have explained the rules of the game, about strikes and balls and runs.

I could have taken that opportunity surrounded by my children and my wife to explain how baseball, if we let it, can teach us about life.

I could have pointed out, although it is individual player’s name we scream, baseball teaches people to work together as a team.

That baseball teaches humility…for no matter how hard you work, or what path you in life you choose…sometimes you’re going to win...and sometimes you’re going to lose.

That baseball teaches perseverance, determination, tenacity and grit…that you shouldn’t worry when you strike out because you’ll get another chance to hit.

That you must endure the slumps in life and the havoc they may wreak…If you’re also to enjoy the jubilance and the joy of a winning streak.

I wanted to say no matter how many bases you run...no matter where you roam…that life will circle back and you’ll always feel safe at home.

All these thoughts went through my mind as we sat in the park that day…wondering what to tell my children as we watched grown men at play.

“What do I like about baseball,” I said smiling for suddenly I knew “What I like best about baseball...is sharing it with you".

Our children are all grown now and, as far as baseball...that’s a shame…because I never got to explain to them the intricacies of the game.

WHEN WHITMAN WAS ALIVE

 

I have the fondest memory…plucked from my memory archive…of our morning walks together…when our golden, Whitman, was alive.

I loved how, though we walked together every day, each walk would seem brand new…and how we each approached our walk from a different point of view.

My eyes were drawn to the sky and the wonders that up there abound…Whitman’s eyes and concentration were riveted to the ground.

I loved to discover the different aromas that wafted on the breeze…Whitman was content with sniffing grass…and bushes…and trees.

I was happy listening to the wind and whatever birdsongs would catch my ear…but when Whitman lifted his head and smiled…I knew he was listening to sounds I could not hear.

We were never in a hurry…there was no need for speed…sometimes we’d walk where I wanted to walk…other times Whitman took the lead.

It’s obvious the view I had on two legs was different that what Whitman saw on four…still…I never could determine…which one of us enjoyed it more.

I still take those morning walks…and though it’s been years since Whitman died…there is still many a morning I can feel him by my side.

Sometimes I feel him as I begin to walk…other times along the way he will arrive…and then the two of us will walk together…

just like when Whitman was alive.

PETS

 

Pets…they come in many different colors…many sizes, shapes and forms.

They entrust us with their lives…to keep them safe, and fed…and warm.

Our pets can teach us many things…if we have the willingness to learn…

They teach us about giving…while asking for little in return.

They teach us the importance of sleep…the virtues of a mid-day nap

They teach us about compassion as they lay their heads upon our laps

They teach us to make time for play…to run through life wide-eyed…they teach us on this journey…it’s best to enjoy the ride.

They have a subtle way of turning our lives upside-down…of changing who we are…and thus

We think we’re taking care of them…when they’re actually taking care of us.

They teach us the power of touch…how to communicate with our eyes.

They teach us how to forgive…they teach us how to die.

From them we learn of unconditional love, we learn how to give thanks and gratitude…

and as they near the end of their short lives…they teach us fortitude.

But perhaps the most important lesson they teach us…which I’m sure all pet owners will agree…

Is that you do not have to be a human…to teach humanity.

Yes, pets are a gift…blessing…as on Earth we all sojourn…

Blessings with so much to teach us…if we have the willingness to learn.