Have you ever seen poetry in motion?
I watched the arc of the tennis ball as it sailed through the air. I took off running, feeling my legs stretch in an effort to beat Mercer, who was only a few steps ahead. He was an older dog and it wouldn’t take me long to catch him.
The ball began its decent. I could judge with fair accuracy where the ball would land. Racing toward the targeted spot, I was ready to grab the toy the moment it landed. From my vantage point behind Mercer, I knew that he had over shot the target.
Oh yeah, this ball was mine.
Suddenly, Mercer twisted his upper body backward in the direction of the descending object.
I stared. And for one moment, intense and poignant, I was transfixed by Mercer’s natural prowess. Simply put, he was poetry in motion. He was beautiful.
I wasn’t jealous or upset that I hadn’t caught the ball. This was about a shared moment of joy that comes with chasing a little yellow ball across the yard and feeling the smooth fluidity of a moving body.
It did seem, however, that the ball wasn’t mine after all.
Until next time,