just a tiny snippet of tenderness for you, the gorgeously simple & the simply gorgeous, a moment with hachiko from a few months ago. i love the idea of building a nest for this ridiculous lovely dog on the window ledge, making a ritual of watching him watch the world go by.
when these were taken it was the dry season & so rain was rare(r than normal), & maybe that’s why he was so enamoured with it, gazing out the window, rapt instead of tapered. but more likely—or at least, i prefer to think—his canine senses pricked onto something outside the window of humming fancy, a tinge of the unreal, faerie footprints lingering on the windowsill. maybe that is just my fickle human heart looking for magic in the mundane. probably it is.
but it’s monsoon season, & the rain comes almost daily, & now that i’ve begun a new job i don’t get to see him nearly as often as either of us would like. (i think perhaps he was spoilt by this summer of so many of the family at home, constantly pressed softly against our backs, we couldn’t move our chairs a centimetre without bumping into his nose or tail.) when i come home in the evenings i sit him with him on the bed or floor or window ledge, & i scratch his ears & i tell him how my day has been & i ask him about his own.
& i swear this darling dog sees so much in the sky outside, more than i could witness even if i was here to see it with him. i swear every time he sits next to me & tells me about his day in sneezes & ear swivels & whisker twitches & loud yawns, it’s this: the rain came again, & i wish you could see the crescent-quiet magic it holds, i wish i could show you the stories it traces into truth, i wish you saw what i see. i wish you could imagine the unimaginably large objects & places & yearnings & plans all that water holds.
or, maybe he is just saying: i would like a tummy rub, now.
but i suppose we’ll never know, will we?