What's to dream about?

I wrote, "I dream of grass and trees." What's to dream about? I have grass and trees, right here! I have acres and acres of parkland to wander in every morning with my dogs, the sun comes up over the hill, the red-winged blackbirds sing from the topmost branches of the trees near the dog beach, a pair of cardinals hop in the leaves; there is snow for the whippets to eat, and friends to meet, and when I come home there is the New York Times waiting for me on the doorstep in its blue plastic bag (so useful for dog walks later in the day) and coffee to be made and breakfast to be eaten. It is really all quite blissful provided nothing goes wrong in the park, which it does occasionally. In fact, if my day could stop right there, be rounded by a little sleep and start all over again with the same thing, I might be perfectly happy--for a few days at least.


I met Bita on the path. She loves Henry and Simone and always gives them a treat when she sees them.

Thank you dogs. There are dogless folks who walk in the park every day, but I know that without you I would not be hauling myself out of bed before dawn seven days a week--my world would be all asphalt, for sure.