Thank god for the small moments. Outside on the lawn the way our old dog lifts her nose to the sun and sniffs, and squints. Some bird’s nonsense and some flies, the first, their happy meandering. Then a neighbor’s dog all in a dither, a distant hum of a small engine buzzing, far enough away it’s almost pleasant. Too cool for shorts but fine for T-shirts. Seeing old friends. One I hadn’t seen since the October 7 attacks in Israel. His eyes at the restaurant unmoving and still, cold blue. They’re the same eyes from the painting of a novelist on the cover of a book I’m reading; the longer I look the more I see my friend’s eyes. Thank god for the small things, for the stupid flute in this song that somehow works. For the pine needles that fell everywhere and got blown into oblivion, for the feeling we belong even when we are unseen.
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Categories: Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, prose
Bill Pearse 
Beautiful; Thank you for the small reminders
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And thank you for being here and sharing that!
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This truly is lovely, Bill. We love watching our dogs lift their heads and sniff. They love being outside. The joy and peace of birdsong. We just last evening noticed “the first fly.” We also had to go put some long pants on to be a little more comfortable sitting outside. This morning I took a few pictures of ‘early Spring’: the first rose, morning glories coming, and canna lilies bursting out of the soil. Beautiful.
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I’m getting a newfound love of spring that’s been increasing over the years and getting more profound perhaps as I get older. (I guess it works both ways on the other end of the year too, depending on your attitude on things.) and I guess it all depends on your attitude right? Glad you could relate and have some lovely similar postcards you’re collecting too…be well Ed and great to see you as always! Bill
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