I take off my boots and put them next to me as I sit down on the plank of wood that is the Gulley Bridge. The stream is just deep enough to cover feet. I place them gently on the algae-covered rocks that line the bottom of the stream.
And then I sit and wait.
Soon I look up through the jumble of thin pussy willow branches that arch over the stream. The soft buds just beginning to emerge. Between them is clear blue sky and within moments a Great Blue Heron sails slowly but purposefully overhead.
The bird song is louder than the distant baaing of sheep. I guess it’s Socks because she does a lot of talking but I don’t know for sure. In front of me, the water makes a soft round sound, as it rolls over the rocks.
But behind me, the water moves more easily as if it’s in a hurry.
Zinnia slides under the gate and stands next to me on the bridge, the left side of her face black with mud. She is limping. I pull a thorn out of her back paw. If she were a lion she’d be my friend forever.
But she is Zinnia so she’s already my friend forever.