My dog Joey is like a big black furry rug. He sits with me outside the house in a patch of sun. He lifts his face often to the sky. I suspect he is taking in the lay of the land with his nose. I am pretty much doing the same though in my case I pick the apples from the garden, take small walks, watch the gold fish dart about under water in the pond.

I let the sun enter my body through my bare legs folded under me, my arms bent over the laptop, my face leaning close to the computer screen so I can see against the glare of the morning light. Sometimes the wind gets strong and blows leaves into our faces, or clouds pass over the sun, changing the weather from warm to chilly in an instant. Then Joey and I rise almost in unison and go back inside. I close the door behind me and Joey settles at my feet. Sometimes I put my feet under his warm belly and we both stay like that, my dog and me, taking stock of what it means to be us in this moment.

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