As someone
who is always on the go, I was stopped in my busy busy tracks this morning, transfixed
by the sight of one of my dogs in deepest slumber on the sofa. Zsa Zsa the
Labrador is, it has to be said, a traitor to her breed, and at her happiest
when horizontal rather than racing around retrieving game. She was lying stretched
out with her head on a cushion (not spoilt, my dogs!) as her fat paws twitched
and her closed eyes moved rapidly from side to side. I wondered what she was
dreaming about. Was I in her dreams? It seems probable, although I’ll never
know. Her jerky movements accompanied by deep snoring and grunting suggested
she was running or chasing something, which only goes to prove that dreams are
often a world away from reality.
The
contemplative mood continued as we had our morning walk. I decided today was
going to be a ‘go with the flow’ day and in poetic mode, stopped to admire and
smell the golden broom and the wild pink roses whose heady perfume fills the
woods. There were lots of butterflies too, a couple of red admiral-type ones
and a few cool-looking black and white spotty ones that could have come
straight from the pages of Italian Vogue. I enjoyed it. I felt like I
had really paid attention instead of mulling things over in my mind like I
usually do, oblivious to what’s around me until I realise we’re back at the house.
Walking on automatic pilot is not helpful.
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