A New Squeak Toy Called Your Face

2024.08.18

Good morning that wonderful way.

Here.
We.
Go.

The music never lies.
How could it?
It would go against its nature.

Sometimes the dog wakes you up with its snout in your face like it misplaced its stuffed squeak toy and the closest replacement is your nose.

Sometimes all it does is make you laugh.

But a dog, your dog, finds out what makes you laugh and because they care for you make sure they keep doing it.

A good friend with a new squeak toy called your face.

First thing in the morning.

Transition day today. Something about the air. About the surroundings. I steady myself. This may be an entry that doesn't get posted. At least the first part. Personal things, those things that involve other people whose names are too obvious to hide, get left here.

Things change.

Especially when this egg has been ready to hatch, this caterpillar has been ready to fly, for a long time.

Holding out for the world to catch up, to come to its good senses enough, to see me fly.

Writing and writing. Righting and righting. Wrighting and wrighting.

And here we go again.

What do we do with thoughts of the past?
Watch grackles on the grass?

What do we do with birds in flight?
What do we do with what's flown away?

We meet another day.

If you're proud of a friend be proud for them, and not that you have a friend, that you're good enough to have a friend to be proud of.

If you're happy with a friend be proud twice, once that you recognize how good it is to have a friend to be proud of, twice that your friend has one, too.

Be glad for each other.

Be grateful for them and not the good say that comes from telling others you are.

A transition day.

Long overdue.

I'll write some more, perhaps a good morning entry around noon.

The page is a stage for dreams doing dreams, words doing words, a paint by numbers made of letters.

Each color a word, each word a place to make the whole composition.