from the lake trail

What Stella Knows

Stella stops for everything. A leaf that moved wrong. A smell only she can read. A stick that is, apparently, the most important stick that has ever existed.

I used to tug the leash a little. Come on, we have somewhere to be. But we didn't, really. We almost never do.

She has never once hurried through a walk. I've hurried through years.

So now the walks belong to her. She sets the pace, and I follow, and the world gets bigger the slower we go. The lake shows up differently every day. The light lands on the water like it's practicing.

If happiness had a sound, I think it would be paws on leaves and a tail wagging beside me. The simplest moments hold the deepest truths — she's known that all along. I'm just catching up.