As the sun came up, he listened to the
elongated notes and chords holding him

in suspended animation then the staccato
jarred him from his gaze at the water

in the creek rippling along, along, along.
He looked at the six-year-old (going on

eight months) female, Chocolate Lab,
adopted five months ago. He put his hand

on her glistening, wavy brown coat.
It was warm from the sun. “I think we’re

going to make it, Babe. I think we are
going to make it.” She licked his hand.

He wondered if that was affection or
just the whiff of something left over

from breakfast.