Sanctuary Back Yard Musings

I am sitting at a wrought iron table in the back yard of the senior dog sanctuary surrounded by old dogs.

The river runs below me, unseen, and produces a trickling sound akin to a toy water fountain.

Gray drapes the clearcuts across the pastures, where cows feed on five-foot tall grasses.

A bald eagle chirps overhead.

The alders stand at perfect attention.

I am trying to still my mind and release anxiety. Rivers can help with that. Dogs, too.

Is there such thing as luck, I mean unadulterated luck?

In the distance I see an ancient TV antenna atop a crumbling manufactured home. I sometimes miss the era of four channels, knobs and snow on the screen at 1:30 am after the national anthem played. Not that really saw the snow all that much, maybe a couple times.

What were Americans doing with their minds at the hour back in that era as opposed to what they are doing now at the same time with exponentially more media available to them? Have our minds changed as a result of this unending availability?

Dogs crowd around me for treats. I honor their request and listen to the river and record my thoughts, most of which I’ll never share.

(If you found this post enjoyable, thought provoking or enlightening, please consider supporting a writer at work by making a financial contribution to this blog or by purchasing an NSP book.)