That Rare Day

Yesterday was one of those gorgeous days on the Central Coast. The sky was a brilliant blue with only an occasional cloud. The wind was gentle and brought the faint smell of the sea. The hills shimmered in emerald green.

And it was warm. I actually went out side and pulled some weeds in the dog run.

Exercise, the actual moving of my body away from the computer, is not something that I do easily anymore. My occupation requires that I do "research" or contact clients, or write briefs or other wordy documents. I do all of that in front of a computer with a telephone stuck in my ear.

I go to the jail to see clients. To do that I sit in a car with a blue-tooth stuck in my ear.

So pulling weeds in the dog run was an existential experience. Under coastal oaks with my three cocker spaniels I yanked up dandelions, milk weed, and foxtails. My mind actually cleared and I did not think about any of the murder cases sitting on my desk.

I watched my dogs try to dig to China after that long gone gopher. I watched the shadows filter across the yard as time passed.

LadyBug, Zelda, and Mohawk in the dog run

And I listened to my hamstrings scream "WTF". But I kept going.

Because the air was clear, the dogs were happy, and I wasn't thinking about work.

That is a rare day.