
"Who knows where the leash is?" I call down the hall, for my wayward puppy has yet to learn the meaning of "come" and needs to be brought back inside. It is a crisp, cool spring morning. Dare I say spring? I am handed the leash by a boy who once climbed into my lap and asked me to read Pooh to him but now is two inches taller than me. He insists it was me who left the leash on my desk, and I insist it is he who is crazy, but handsome just the same.
I step outside and attempt to fill my lungs with air. I choke and catch my breath. I have been ill for weeks, too ill to be outdoors, too ill for anything really. At times it has seemed to be the dramatic conclusion to months of struggle. But today is different. The sun is shining, and the air is fresh, and I am reminded that to everything there is a season.

I am greeted by the back yard mutt, he who is perfectly content to have his ball thrown and his bowl filled a couple of times a day. How simple his life is. I toss his ball, and he charges away. He doesn't find it odd that the lady of the house is outside this early, and that she has returned to throw his ball. Eventually, normal returns.

My sweet Siberian is at my side at every turn. His days are few now, and he seems to know this. He barely stands against the spring breeze, and leans against my legs for support, looking up at me for reassurance. He will soon leave my side, another season come and gone. It will leave a tender place in my memory that will still ache years from now. Most will not understand it, and so mine will be a quiet grief.

The chickens have left me eggs this morning. They scold me for bringing all the dogs to the pen, or perhaps for not letting them out much lately, I'm not sure. I've asked a lot of them recently...they are clearing a new garden area for me and I reward them with kitchen scraps and bread crumbs and my gratitude that God has sent more sunshine for them. And for me.
I round the garden beds...too much work awaits me there...I can't begin to think that way. But the trees are just beginning to blossom, the signs of life are showing. The earth is coming out of its drab, dull winter. And my heart is warmed.
He makes all things new.
Even me, Lord?Even me.
***
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