Pepper and I went out for a walk the other day. Though some of the local daffodils were starting to look a little tired, the cherry blossoms were proud and showy. We stopped frequently, checking out certain tufts of grass, mailbox posts, and three very small white barking creatures behind a fence (“Are those fluffy things dogs?”). Also a man on a mower, the debris near the road where a house is being built, and little children playing on a preschool playground.
“Come along, Pepper,” I said, after about our tenth stop to look or sniff. “The point of a walk is to walk.”
Pepper happily obliged, trotting alongside me. Until she spotted a large black bird not far away.
“Come along, Pepper,” I encouraged. “The point of a walk is to walk,” I said, less cheerfully.
Pepper happily obliged, trotting alongside me. Until she noticed the provocative smell on a lower branch of a forsythia bush.
“Come along, Pepper!” I argued. “The point of a walk is to walk!” I harangued.
The rest of our walk was quiet and quick. She looked straight ahead and kept up with my pace. We didn’t notice any more interesting things, and then we were home.
Peppy licked my hand. “What’s wrong?” she asked. (She can always tell.)
“I was thinking,” I said. “Maybe I missed the point.”
“I always knew you were smart,” she said, smiling, before she stretched out in the grass and rested.
* * *
A good point is hard to find.
And: Sometimes the point of of a day is to doubt, sometimes to hope, sometimes to be glad and sing. May Easter find you happy wherever you are. Love and good wishes from Pepper and me!