Perfect World

I have a little ritual. Okay, truth is, I have a lot of rituals, many of which involve counting, but that is not what I’m here to talk about. My little ritual is walking my dog at 5:15 in the morning, five days a week.

I know that 5:15 seems a little early. I agree, but I just don’t have the time to tell you about why it has to happen that way. There is a complicated algorithm that involves peppermint tea, Sudoku, and Angela An, and since January of this year, it has expanded to incorporate the biological needs of my little dog Skye. So, at 5:15, I head out the door, ready to walk a mile with the dog, to get her some exercise, and to get me some peace of mind.

There is something perfect about the world at rest. In the summer, I am alone with the sounds of crickets, frogs and the breeze ruffling through the tops of trees. I am under a canopy of soft stars and a bright moon. I smell green leaves and the wind, and watch as early birds make their go of getting the worm. In the spring, I get the first glimpse of dogwood and hyacinth. I literally can stop and smell the roses, and I don’t look like a weirdo with her nose in some stranger’s plants. I see the first blue light of the early morning, and feel the dew as it sets on the grass. In the winter, I get complete silence – the world insulated by inches of fresh snow, occasionally punctuated by the distant sound of some poor early-shifter who has to dig out his car. Skye springs through the snow, leaving tiny prints in the yards, sniffing snowmen, and slipping on icy patches. The snow sparkles as it falls from the black sky on to the white ground.

Every morning is the most beautiful I’ve seen. Everything is magical: the ever-changing sky, the soft raindrops that fall from the trees overhead; the utter stillness and opportunity for quiet thought. Every morning I say, “Thank God for this time. Thank God for this moment of peace. Thank God for this.”

It’s always over before I am ready, and it’s time to say and do a hundred meaningless things before my day is over – things I won’t remember and that won’t make a difference. But these precious twenty minutes before I start that – they will stay with me forever.