Writing is solitary and sedentary. When I’ve been sitting too long, my spaniel, never far from my side, will get up, stretch, then rest her chin on my knee, wagging her entire bottom half while her head is still, eyes gazing straight into mine imploring me to rise. Sometimes I wave her away, lost in a good paragraph. But sometimes she wins. Lifting myself out of the mist that cocoons me, I am rewarded by her gleeful whimpers as she wiggles her way towards the door. I follow, joints softly creaking from the hours of repose, grabbing her leash and walk into the open air. She bounds ahead, running circles in the yard celebrating her victory. I breathe in the pine and fallen leaves grateful that the open sky expands my mind and her victory is also mine.
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