When I was growing up we were enjoined to stay in line, to wait our turn quietly. I knew my place in the alphabet of classmates, knew where I stood, what was expected. I didn’t really know who I was much but I knew what I wanted: to be out of the line, on my own.
When I walk with our dogs they are happy to be in a line, they constantly check in to see where I am and what I am doing. With all this allegiance, with their doggy selves they are still more individual than I was, than I struggle to be even now.
Their right to be who they are is not on their minds. It is not an issue for them. Of course they don’t like being wrong but they only know they are wrong if we tell them and it doesn’t stay in their minds for too long even then.
This morning I am in line with them, sniffing, feeling the ground under my feet, daring my heart to race ahead, to be alert to possibility and not to consequence, to dance with the new moon and let be what is. This morning I speak the language of the senses with my stars aligned, the pears ripening on the tree, loosestrife and thistle, queen anne’s lace and little yellow flowers on delicate greens. I am breath as I breathe in and air as I breathe out. Whole and hearty, looking for the next scent, I am with the pack.