Five Curious Years and Cat-Like Reflexes
I can see the cat, white and quick, through the bare, gray trees. The cat runs in sudden bursts and stops on a dime, or whatever passes for currency amongst the wild. He stops and he stares.
There is a pattern here, for I too am stopped. I too am staring. I am watching him watch something else and that thing may be watching yet another something and so forth and so on and I can't help but wonder who is watching me.
I live in a glass house. I like to throw stones.
This past Monday my little blog turned five. That's like 80 in blog years. We didn't have a party. We didn't decorate. You didn't get me anything.
I take solace in the thought that you are there. Each post is a piece of me and together they blur like the trees for the forest. Sometimes I run. Sometimes I sit. Sometimes I stare at something else.
And always you've been there for me. Thank you for watching.