My dog has been gone for quite some time now. Still, I look for a living dog where ground is set aside for meadow beauty, meadow brown and meadow fescue, meadow mushroom and the blushing cheeks of meadowsweet where there were larks unequaled singing. No singing here, at the moment. I see the meadow rue and the meadow saffron, bright eyes of the meadow mouse, all manner of beauty speckling other beauty. I watch where a bird throws itself overhead and a mystery shadow is cast, and alert my senses to any sight or bark-like sound to claim as my dead dog's reaction to my heart's tattoo. For some reason, this day especially I miss him. I invite magic and call his life back to me until I feel sick... and must usher myself away.
The world is filled with handsome men and beautiful women, with each moving to individual purpose, and gain or loss. All are to be recognized and enjoyed as if walking through a museum or a carnival, depending on mood or circumstance. We have but to see each face, or think of it, to hear each voice, or remember it, and the museum, the carnival goes on and on with color, lights and movement……and all, in equal share, are bright, and none are pale. There is great beauty in this shared existence.