To be sure, these days will not last (though there’s no real rain in the forecast for the next week, FWIW), and our friends here are reminding us to enjoy them while we can.

They are certainly to be savored – not only because they will eventually be replaced by less pleasant ones, but also just in themselves.

Today was a particularly beautiful morning – perhaps in part because it’s the first real Saturday we’ve had for a while, i.e., a morning when we could take our time.
And I’m convinced that, as I vaguely recall has been demonstrated in neuroscience, since the environment is still new to us, our brains have not become dulled by its familiarity: rather, everything hits us with the sharp, all but overwhelming presence of The First Time, as if the senses were somehow more fully open and awake.
And then there’s the fact that the air is often unusually clear, perhaps an effect of our living on the coast.

Finally, perhaps it’s because of the northern latitude.  The sky, deep blue overhead, shades into an eggshell blue towards the horizon.  The sky and clouds are those you’d find in a Vermeer.  It often seems as if we’re walking through a painting made real, comprehensive, ultimate – or some science-fiction world, where the colors and hues shift subtly but clearly away from the familiar and the everyday.

In any event, as we walked down to town to look at bicycles (yes!  Charlie is now the proud owner of a new Raleigh!) and enjoy what we call (from the Germans) a Stadtbummel (roughly, just walking about without much of a plan or agenda, to enjoy the sights) – the beauty of the clear but restrained northern sun, blue sky and distant sea was all but beyond belief.  The sun poured down like honey (to steal from Leonard Cohen) on the university buildings, fanning their burnt yellow or red bricks to ultimate brightness and clarity.

All due respect: it’s hard for me to imagine any heaven improving much on this.

Our old dog
one of the sweetest creatures to ever walk this lovely planet
trusted us.

That’s what our good and wise Vet said,
in the difficult discussion about putting her to sleep.

It was true.  And it was true,
as the luxury of time and retrospect confirm,
that it was, if not the Best Thing,
the Better Thing to do.

But the procedure did not go smoothly
despite everyone’s best will and effort,
surrounded as she was by family and
familiar care-givers.

When the serum finally went in,
though, she slumped in my arms immediately.

But she left us with her distinctive
expression of quizzicality:
“What is this?”

No outrage, no accusation of betrayal, no anger -
She didn’t know – hence her question.

She just asked: What is this?
Perhaps: What is this you have done to me?

What is it indeed?

Questions not just for dogs.

- charlie & conni