Strawberry lemonade is the lingering taste of the morning, too cold for bare feet when I let Duke out to inspect the yard and hot enough to draw sweat by our afternoon walk. The warming weather brings allergies (Pollen, I think) and the savory feeling of things coming back to life.

Duke’s a lab mixed with something else (Retriever, I think). He often lies at the gap in the fence waiting patiently for the empty yard next door to be filled. Our neighbor’s house is unoccupied since they moved somewhere else last week (Tulsa, I think) and the cocker spaniel that kept us company with his constant pontifications all day and night has gone with them.

While it’s true that Duke and I have differing opinions of the sudden quiet, he and I are wrestling with the same thing: Impermanence, I think, and the knowledge that we do not have the power to change what now is; only the less satisfying power to change what later will be.