Drop. Poop. Sprint.

Sunday, March 30, 2025

Good morning, that wonderful way.

Good to be read by you again. O/

Hope you slept well.

Words to write, magic to spell…

On with our show.

The dog’s been fed moment.

Abe’s hungrier, lately.

It’s Spring’s call to grow more.

Patches of strong sleep last night.

Wake for awhile, sleep for a few hours, wake for awhile.

My usual way just deeper sounder sleep.

Heavier dreams.

Deeper down weighted in the dark.

I spent most of my life surviving Life in daydreams.

I don’t sleep much; I don’t require it.

You probably realized this with all the up-hours-before-sunrise entries.

Perhaps there’s an overabundance of dreams? A quota reached?

With health I’m glad to be able to finally work, so I jump right in.

Abe’s used to it.

Checks I’m all right, checks his dog clock, rolls his eyes, rolls back to sleep.

This morning, he checked his food bowl.

My good friend, I fed him first.

There’s the peace of morning air absent most of the day that adds inspired comfort to the lines.

Daytime words prove points, direct characters, impress impress impress all dressed up in pay attentions and say what you means.

Morning lines sit by windows, anticipate the sunrise, want daylight to see what they said.

You have a dog; you know this.

Nothing weird here.

Leashless in a backyard, or park, or anywhere outside.

Sometimes your dog paces, paces, paces, stops, poops, stops fast, races, and runs!

Happy tongue wags in the breeze.

I congratulate Abe and cheer!

Some crap is best to just drop and get as far away from as possible, as fast as possible.

There’s a poetic lesson in all things.

Even the: Drop. Poop. Sprint.

Of a dog.

Leave that crap behind you and move on.

The squeak toys aren’t going to play by themselves.

There’s work to be done!

Get over that, leave it behind and move on, your life’s not gonna live itself, take care and make a wonderful day.