It was the distant view that he liked. He could stand on this ridge and look over the tree canopy as far as Outer Harbour on a clear day. But not today. Today, the sun created stippled shadows, through trees flanking the path he’d just walked with the dog. The light occasionally blinded him, as branches moved in the breeze, but he gazed ahead, waiting for moments of clarity and respite from the glare. His wife was now permanently in the nursing home so there was no reason to hurry home. He no longer kept his life to any routine. When the day was fine, he walked, and let his thoughts wander. On top of this hill his problems seemed less important. Life found its own level.
He was alone here, apart from the dog sweeping enthusiastically with her nose, circling around him, enjoying the smells. He let her run, knowing he was always in her peripheral vision. He was never lonely with his dog, and this was one of many canine companions he’d had over fifty years. He thought about his dogs and counted them. Seven he’d had, and sometimes two at the same time. But this would be the last, and like a last child, she was indulged and well-loved. Her nights spent in a basket by his bed and his own days enjoyed in her company.
The light suddenly changed, blurring the green of the distant hills into the smoky blue-grey of the sky. There would be rain later, but right now, it was still dry, and the distant, leaden sky gave only a hinted threat.
He turned, whistled for the dog, and headed back. He’d done little that was productive, but he’d stood and thought about the past and the present; let his mind wander over problems and was returning home at peace. Like the skyline, the future was hazy. But life was still worthwhile
Burnside Writers Group 