A Moment

Busy days and then suddenly, yoga class was cancelled, I had everything ready for the writing class I was teaching that night, and . . . I had time. Glorious sun lit the coastal forest and sparkled off the pond that spills into Thiel Creek. Trees cast shadows on the road as Annie and I walked. How strange it felt to not be wearing a coat, to feel sun on my bare arms. We walked up hill and down, Annie’s tan and white paws padding beside my gray Reeboks. As we U-turned at the dead end of Cedar Street, Annie was panting. My two-year-old pup is not used to heat.

At home, she lapped water of of her bowl while I drained my glass. Then we lounged on the deck, which was finally dry after weeks of wet. As I lay back, soaking in the warm wood and blue sky, Annie snuggled against me, her head on my chest. “Ah, girl,” I said. “We’ve been through a lot, you and I, but God has blessed us with this moment.” I held onto that moment carefully, like a butterfly that had landed in the palm of my hand, soon to fly away.

Author: Sue Fagalde Lick

writer/musician California native, Oregon resident Author of Freelancing for Newspapers, Shoes Full of Sand, Azorean Dreams, Stories Grandma Never Told, Childless by Marriage, and Up Beaver Creek. Most recently, I have published two poetry chapbooks, Gravel Road Ahead and The Widow at the Piano: Confessions of a Distracted Catholic. I have published hundreds of articles, plus essays, fiction and poetry. I'm also pretty good at singing and playing guitar and piano.

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