I’m sitting on a dry space looking over a deeply blue marsh,
knees pulled to my chest. No spring peepers—just birds, rustling through trees
on the other side of the water. I’m lost in thought when I notice the jingle
sound, soft padding paws. I turn; a brown-and-white patched dog, ears perked
and flappy, eagerly sniffs my hand. I stroke his silky head, feel warm lapping tongue
on my fingers. His master calls him, apologizes. “It’s okay.” He sees my face, grins;
they run onward. I watch until he and the dog disappear. I find that I’m breathing
again.
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