He Was Poetry In Motion

In a competitive game of catch between a little white dog and big dog, he was poetry in motion.

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.

And I?

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,


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