Rainy all day, but they need their exercise.
The park, emptied of everyone
except me and the dogs—
tails up, noses down,
Bella with her tug ball,
oblivious to weather,
or maybe made for it.
No voices. No cars.
Just the soft drip of water meeting earth,
and the rhythm of paws
in soaked grass.
We got wet.
We didn’t mind. Nothing a car towel can't fix.
The world had stepped out,
and left the silence to us.
This piece began as a dream, or a half-song, back in 2009. A character emerged and never quite left. I didn’t know what to do with her until now. So here she is—in her own rhythm, her own night, driving into something new.
She Moves
She wakes at three a.m.
Blinks to clear her head.
No sound.
The house is still.
Dark.
Silent, decisive footsteps—
in seconds she’s at the door.
Grabs her keys.
Her bag.
Doesn’t bother with the bed.
She hesitates
on the back porch.
Shaking, but sure.
She must.
She has to go.
Lets the door shut
like a closing chapter
then slips into her car.
And the road ahead
is an unknown life.
When there’s nothing left to do,
and no one left to blame—
hard times get harder
when you have to change.
When all you’ve got is the sound of blue,
you play a whole new game.
‘Cause no one ever
stays the same.
She drives.
Thinks back on the years
she just made do—
Empty men.
Empty jobs.
Bottles that went nowhere.
That first time in the mirror—
the ache in her aging face.
She broke down,
right then,
and knew:
This can’t be it.
She moves, she moves.
She knows what she’s gotta do.
Pomp and circumstance—
graduate to a whole new school.
Learn to win
with a brand new set of rules.
Use your heart.
Make it work.
Make all new friends.
Push down the fear.
Believe in the end.
‘Cause staying ‘round here?
It amounts to nothing
in the end.
