Tail Held High

Duncan is full of lessons, some more obvious than others.

As the leaves have begun to change, coloring our walks through The Run in ambers and reds, my heart has been breaking for the familiar heat and burn, the scents and noise of summer. Duncan, though, ambles through the shrubs, sniffing out the trunks of the trees while catching burs and thorns in his coat, soaking his face in the morning dew and caking his narrow paws in mud. I slip and slide on the wet grass and shiver in the cold, cursing my lack of a private yard, wishing I could hunker down with a cup of tea for a few more minutes before heading off to work. But Dunc is always happy, squirrel or no squirrel, mud or not. His head may be low, his face drenched, but there's always a very obvious joy about him.



Kind of makes me wish I had a tail. Just to wave it and share with all the world. How wonderful life would be. And perhaps Autumn would be a bit more bearable.