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WHEN WHITMAN WAS ALIVE
I have the fondest memory…plucked from my memory archive…of our morning walks together…when our golden, Whitman, was alive.
I loved how, though we walked together every day, each walk would seem brand new…and how we each approached our walk from a different point of view.
My eyes were drawn to the sky and the wonders that up there abound…Whitman’s eyes and concentration were riveted to the ground.
I loved to discover the different aromas that wafted on the breeze…Whitman was content with sniffing grass…and bushes…and trees.
I was happy listening to the wind and whatever birdsongs would catch my ear…but when Whitman lifted his head and smiled…I knew he was listening to sounds I could not hear.
We were never in a hurry…there was no need for speed…sometimes we’d walk where I wanted to walk…other times Whitman took the lead.
It’s obvious the view I had on two legs was different that what Whitman saw on four…still…I never could determine…which one of us enjoyed it more.
I still take those morning walks…and though it’s been years since Whitman died…there is still many a morning I can feel him by my side.
Sometimes I feel him as I begin to walk…other times along the way he will arrive…and then the two of us will walk together…
just like when Whitman was alive.
