Before the Rain ...

.

My projects are half-completed
yet done so with great satisfaction,
by the time my back starts hurting,
terribly and inevitably.
So, it's time to call it a day,
because a big storm is rolling in. 

.
I put my chair in the shade
where the best breezes flow,
and I pour cold beer over ice,
waiting for the cooler breezes,
and I open a book. 

.
Winds rise, skies darken, thunder rumbles,
and the world scrambles in fear:
Pinkie the Cat runs in a
desperate comical low-crawl dash
to some outside retreat.
Silly Willy loses his nerve and goes inside. 

.
Then the Black Dog, a fat old soi dog
with gray whiskers who often shows
up for food, waddles by.

He is afraid of me - though not
afraid of gentle Tuk when she's here.
I wave, say "Hi," and talk to him in friendly

nonsense phrases while I slowly push some tuna
that the cats didn't eat
through the fence for him.
I back off to give him space and courage to eat.

He eats it up; I approach again,

give him tuna, and again back off; he eats;

we repeat this dance until the

tuna is gone and he is happy. 

As he turns to go, we part as friends.

.

Cosmic bodhisattva Black Dog,

thank you for enlightening my world. 

.

-Zenwind.

.