Just around the corner from our house, this magical miniature frozen scene plays out in a dirty gutter, mere inches away from the tires of a parked car.
The clock is ticking this morning, with work and deadlines waiting at the keyboard back in the home office, and the voices in my head already churning the day’s prose.
The dog doubles back for a closer sniff. She isn’t a writer, so deadlines and the pressures of stringing words together to keep the lights on mean nothing to her.
I give her a few seconds to explore this tiny, temporary world, then gently tug at her leash. She digs in her paws and stares directly into my eyes. Stubborn schnu.
I tell her I don’t have time. That it’s a busy day. As if she really cares.
She digs in harder, then returns to the serious business of sniffing the ice. I tell her, again, in a stronger voice, that we’ve got to get going, that we can come back later.
She ignores me. She sounds like a snorkeling submarine. I feel my face cracking an involuntary smile.
I briefly consider picking her up so we can continue on our way, but something about this spot, this moment, stops me. There’s something about it that’s keeping her here. So I take my smartphone out and join her as she continues to explore the ice with her nose.
By the time I’ve taken a few photos, she’s decided we’re done, and we continue our walk.
A few minutes later, we’re on the return leg back to the house. The car is gone. The ice is crushed, and what’s left is melting fast.
Calli looks at me. Message received. Never wait for later when the fleeting now is beckoning. Always listen to the dog.
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