Mitchell’s triangular ears are flat against his head.
He paces the perimeter of the living room, even venturing behind the purple couch.
His pink paw pads are noiseless against the hardwood floors.
I know what is about to happen.
Now I hear it too – the rumble, the squeak, the squeal,
those churning wheels begin to slow down the ones spinning in my head.
My slow and purposeful movement toward the back of the house counteracts the building momentum.
As it comes closer, closer and closer still, my heartbeat quickens.
I stand on the porch but am soon in the yard to better absorb the vibrations.
They are soaking into my body, into my being.
I stare just beyond the trees at the back of my yard until it arrives.
Rapid flashes of the wheeled boxes zoom past and I close my eyes to ward off dizziness.
I am still, I listen – I am truly present in this moment.
This has become a meditation for me – a reminder to stop and feel the grass between my toes.
I acknowledge my gratitude for: the cat who is now hiding under the bed, the whippet who stands nearby un-phased, this yard, this porch, this tiny bungalow, this space in the world, this life of my own.