During the Storm

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I was dreaming of the one who doesn’t see me and the one I’m afraid of, when our dog, shaken by the thunder, shimmied between us. I turned on my side and she curled into my belly. My wife in her sleep brought her legs up close. I rubbed our dog’s chest slowly, and she calmed down. In about thirty minutes, the storm passed, and all that was left was the softness of holding something we love in the night. It felt like we were under the porch in Heaven, where the moon comes through the slats to remind us of our innocence. Outside, the rain was washing the world of the worries that gather between us.

A Question to Walk With: Tell the story of an unexpected tender moment.

This excerpt is from my new book, Things That Join the Sea and the Sky: Field Notes on Living, published by Sounds True Nov 1, 2017.

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