The Unclad Soul

I don’t know if there is a heaven or  if there is a hell; but I know where paradise is.  Out in the country where the cattle graze, where the dogs play,  where the trees hang low  and the pace is slow.  Out along the old dirt roads where the fields are plowed and the wheat is sowed; and up on the hills, where the big bucks hide, and down below where the field mice crawl and the chicken hawks fly.  Paradise is where the fire pit burns and the beers are consumed,  where the laughs are shared and the city’s lampooned.  It’s cold nights in the warm house where the TV lights the dark, and the recliner welcomes with a comfortable embrace and the journey of sleep starts.  It’s morning dew  when the air is clean and the grass shimmers in the sun. It’s daily chores and work well done; it’s the flutter of birds over the trees, down in the low spots where the creeks run. It’s the end of d...

“Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home, known or unknown, actual or visionary.   A houseboat in Kashmir, a view down Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, a gray gothic farmhouse two stories high at the end of a red dog road in the Allegheny Mountains, a cabin on the shore of a blue lake in spruce and fir country, a greasy alley near the Hoboken waterfront, or even, possibly, for those of a less demanding sensibility, the world to be seen from a comfortable apartment high in the tender, velvety smog of Manhattan, Chicago, Paris, Tokyo, Rio, or Rome —   there's no limit to the human capacity for the homing sentiment.” ~ Edward Abbey, Environmentalist/Author

Dogs really are our best friends. Ingrid has a little Chihuahua named Brownie, because of course, that’s his color. Cutest little thing you ever saw. Every morning when I pick Ingrid up for school Brownie comes running to me. He goes to the sofa where he can barely jump high enough to get on, but he eventually makes it. He waits for our morning routine in which I rub his back and scratch behind his ears and tell him what a good boy he is. I talk to him while Ingrid is getting her backpack ready. He snuggles his little head against my leg and while he wheezes and wiggles I love on him a little bit. One day as I was taking Ingrid into her school she had on her heavy black coat. As I was brushing off some of Brownie’s hairs I said, “Hang on, sweetie; you have Brownie’s hair on you.” She said, “Oh that’s okay, Poppy. I want some of his love on me today.” Of course, why not? Leave those reminders of her little loving companion. Our pets give us so much comfort, don’t the...