Alamo Square

Freshly cut grass.  The burn in the back of my legs as I climb the hill, find the perfect spot at the top.  A stately rottweiler strolls up to where I lay propped on my elbows, sits casually beside me and accepts an ear scratch.  We admire the view for a moment in companionable silence and then he moves on.  The glow of the waning sun is just enough to make bearable the gradually increasing breeze, as the clouds start moving faster overhead.  Dogs chase each other in circles, paws barely touching the ground as they run, the simplest, purest joy emanating from their beings.  The joy of being alive.  Of feeling the grass and the sun and the wind.   I look to the west and I swear I can smell the ocean.