Buck and I went for a walk this morning. It was more like a leisurely stroll. Then, it rained. We got wet. Then, wetter. But. One of the things I like best in walking is all the sights of lives lived. Like peeking inside of windows, but its all on the outside for anyone to view.
So, today, lives lived; a motorcycle parked on the front porch of a duplex, a blooming vine on a white trestle that could have been a morning glory but it looked like a pinwheel or a song, a window, second floor window, with a picture taped outward of Jesus (it was a blue print Jesus), a huge yellow dog pacing and barking behind a eight foot wooden fence declaring "I am lonely and I love you, I love you desperately." a beautiful brick home with a note glued on the glass of its beautiful double doors saying it had been found abandoned and therefore belonged to a government agency, a huge hand-lettered poster on a picture window of a small building, the sign said OPEN, a wild cottage garden with ivies and pink lilies and these little bushes with teeny-tiny purple berries, and, lastly, a row of garage doors, four of them, that were double farm doors, painted red and whispering, "Where are our horses, our cows, the ducks that waddle through our mud puddles? Where are our mud puddles?"
