Monday, April 19, 2010
Tonight I went for an early evening walk with The Pooch in the Heather Garden. It was nearing the end of dusk. The sun still cut a slice of gold at the horizon. The sky was cloudless. Its upper reaches had darkened to ceramic blue. We sat on the Linden Terrace, Pooch on my lap cuddling his head against my chest. He has been sick for months. Most recently his lungs had filled up with fluid from an overdose of steroids. Then all he wanted to do was to be next to me, even though I wanted nothing more than to see him running around on his own, forgetting about me. But tonight, on a lower dose of medication, he was feeling better. We were alone on the Linden Terrace except for the Old Russian Couple, sitting closely together on a bench behind us. We watched the horizon nuzzle into darkness and then headed home through the garden. Though the flowers had lost the brilliance of day, their scents had magnified. I stood on a stone and buried my nose in the lilacs, breathing deeply until my senses were overwhelmed. This is bliss.