Foreshadowing

Fog over green hills, the smell of leather, my jacket stiff with its newness, the expensive watch peeping from my cuff as I swing my arms.

My dog trots at the end of his lead, his white fur yellow like an old newspaper, his once-supple walk stiffened by age and injury.

He knows my pocket holds a tennis ball, knows and loves this fact, game for the daily exercise that now hurts more than helps.

Until today I’ve ignored his age, the wet rug smell of him, his tartarous teeth.

He jolts along, stretching out like a shadow before me.

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  1. Sandra

    This was really moving. I’ve made the same observations myself over the years, acknowledging that there’s something you’ll have to get the other side of, but wanting to hang onto every minute before you do. Good one.

Don't just stand there.