Personal Memoir

The dog barks at the highway, the highway barks at itself. A cheap brittle curtain gives way to fast advancing light that breaks in needles past my face like splinters flying past the wedge. I've got to see what this dog is barking at, though I already know; a cloud, the horse, but probably the highway. Light is like a piston pressing into my orbit squeezing the retained juices into the crust, like the press awakens garlic cloves to come alive and release their dormant essence. Of course it was the highway, but I will give him the benefit of the doubt, that cloud sort of does look like a milk bone. Pins of light penetrate this cauldron of a chamber, the floor seems effervescent with dust dancing at will amongst fragmented sun trapping me like steel bars in this moment. Damn if I don't have to weigh the utility of his companionship against the annoyance of his kibble hole on a daily basis. In the cold, breath walks in front of you, reporting reminders concerning the blissful elementary nature of mortality. Emerging from my den musical mutt trots up without being called, he knows just where he's headed, to his room for a nap so I can finish mine. A wave of brilliance wider than eternity frequents down over this valley every morning to highlight it's most active and colorful features. Gripping it's audience in a slow captured state as when one is taken by electricity and can count the nano seconds while plotting release, except in this scene the captured wish for the opposite. When the road barks at itself lacking a report, humble moments like these among being missed may lead to finding myself reaching the same, though arguably less vocal, conclusion less and less often as a result of seperation from the morning maestro's all knowing lyrics; I am here, alive!