Wednesday, May 25, 2011

The Sweetness of Doing Nothing

Staring through the window panes of a vase, searching. A week ago roses grew from its sparkling depths, but now it is empty. Triangles in the crystal lattice ignite one at a time, lightning bugs looking for love.

Rambo's breathing comes in waves. It is cool against my fingers, but his nose is warm. Twisted into a ball and tucked under his left ear is my dad's karate kid t-shirt.

He tilts his body a little and, pulling him sideways, gravity completes the motion. With his legs kicked out in front of him, one paw curled under like a hoof, he resembles a pony. 

Footsteps sound and he is stirred. Abandoning the couch, he crumbles to the floor on a stretch of cardboard. Adorning the entrance to his crate, the board serves as the designated place for chewing his bone. Open it up, and you will see the vestiges of an old science fair project. 

All winter our shoulders and arms waited patiently to breathe again, and the time has come. So why do I seek a metal band to snake around my arm and contain its newfound freedom?

My mom placed a doggy scarf on Rambo the other day, and, to our immense surprise, he didn't shake it off. The tables were turned, and we became the shadow that trailed his movement through the house, delighting in his attainment of a whole new level of dapper. 

Borsch awaits. 

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