I just got home from my morning walk with our new dog, Tucker. I haven't written about him, yet. Or about our buddy boy Ben, our pup of 8 years, who we lost just two months ago. I think I am still comprehending just how much a dog means to it's family.
Tucker is a wonderful dog and, like Ben, a gift. He gets me up before the girls and it's been a healthy time for me. Often, as soon as we venture outside, I feel an ease in my step.
This morning, the warm breezes tickled the many fallen leaves and roused them to dance alongside our legs and feet. As Tucker first started to sniff about, I took in the sky, already pale blue and beautiful, dotted with freshly baked baguette shaped clouds.
And then, with the winds, they soon separated to reveal a sudden shock of light. The moon, still wide awake and bursting with a glory I have never seen, seemed to appear just for me. A tiny gasp escaped my lips, Tucker's ears flapping the grass under me. I was struck still in awe.
"Thank you, God," I said.
Tucker and I continued on, along our normal route. And despite discovering well into the walk that the poop bag had a hole, I was full of joy. I was so content in the simplicity of the moment and the quietness of the morning. I pondered how I could bottle my mood to swallow again later, whenever I would need a good grounding dose of my blessed reality.
There had to be a way to harness this 1.21 gigawatts of joy.
I am confident it is always there for the taking, but I overlook it so easily. I get caught up in complications and let the dust they kick up settle over everything. I walk on, but head down and in a fog. Little shocks me awake like this morning's moon.
As Tucker and I rounded the corner for home, the moon was no longer visible, but my answer suddenly was. I had come full circle and found myself standing where I started. And what had I done? What had put this day on the right path?
I said, "Thank you, God."