Distractions

Too many aches and pains, he thinks. Too many headaches, upset stomachs, surgical procedures.

“I’m still a young man,” he says to the setting sun, the fading spring breeze.

Life weighs heavy, way too heavy.

He picks up a stick to toss, fingers the lichen-covered bark, greenish-brown on the back of the oak branch. The new grass rustles in the wind and tickles his bare shins. Above the breeze, he picks up his heartbeat, his breath, the static of blood coursing through capillaries in his ears, and is comforted by the mellow beat.

He tosses the stick and gingerly lowers himself into the grass to watch as the fading blue skies, whitewashed by washboard high clouds, fire to yellows and oranges with the sunset.

He shuts his eyes and counts to 30; when he opens them he marvels silently at the vastness of open sky.

His German shepherd makes a wide arc around his prone figure and takes up a sitting position on the man’s left hip. She scans the area, opens her mouth to let her nose get the maximum scent and collapses her black-and-tan head onto the man’s chest.

She sighs.

He chuckles.

“We should spend the night right here, just like this.”

Her tail beats a happy response.