Mitchell Way
Beak and Bill sat on the end of a dock at Lake Padden. The morning was cool, and a light fog drifted across the surface of the water.
The two met every morning during fishing season and sometimes out of season. It was not only a place to catch fish and banter the latest gossip, but it was also a place to sit quietly to let one’s mind drift before the busyness of the day began.
I met a man sitting on a sidewalk bench in Lynden the other day. He had a heavy Chicago Bears sweatshirt on, and it was obvious to me that he wasn’t a local.
I had a nudge from my inner self to say “hi”. He was a nice guy, but it was hard for me to understand the inner city slang he was using. Basically, I understood that he was in the county visiting a brother who had moved out from Chicago. The brother was encouraging him to move out before he got shot in the streets.
2009-2020
My granddog, Milton Barry and I walked through the tall grass to a hilly knoll overlooking the ocean. He wasn’t walking as fast in his old age, but he didn’t mind the walk together. As the afternoon sun was setting, we sat together and I laid my hand on his back.
Last night my grand dog Milton Barry and I were sitting on the living room couch telling stories. He starts telling me how he fought in the great Dog and Cat War of the 1950s. I know he’s lying because he can’t possibly be that old but I let him ramble on and I try to keep a straight face because I know that out of courtesy he listens to my lies too.