Today, even though we're still in desert climes, I'm thankful for the wind, so Luna can pump his legs across Rte. 40 to Flagstaff.
We're both awed by the relentless peace, the beauty of the landscape, and how close the fluffy, white and silver cloud puffs float above the trees. They travel slowly, too. Like us.
There is a certain pace to living, isn't there?
And when we're not in synch with that pace, then we call it life, because we don't really feel like we're living. Seems like we're either rushing to get ready for it, rushing to get ahead of it, or waiting to get ready for it, or waiting because we think we got ahead of it.