For those of you old
enough to have used a record player, you’ll most likely remember that once the
needle followed the curve in the record to the end, the record player kept
rotating, while the needle kept bouncing against the edge of the label. There was no more music, just the sound of
the needle scraping against the paper.
Over time I’ve come
to recognize a similarity between that event and when I sit here and feel like
writing but I’m no longer in the grove.
I search for a worthy topic, or failing that, I attempt to create a
photograph that might potentially be blog worthy.
Having just written that,
I feel I should write about the two lives that just passed by my window. Both were at the end of a stretched-out leash. One dog walker and two dogs. The dog walker does not hold my interest, but
when I consider the view of the daily walk, as seen by the dogs, I have to
consider that they have been cooped up indoors for hours and have looked
forward to this event with excitement and great anticipation.
With a sense of smell
far greater than ours, I would guess the neighborhood offers much more for them
to appreciate than it does for us. The
sights and sounds at their height reveal to them all the things that go
unnoticed by those of us usually in a hurry, and as they are barefoot, the road
and ground give their walk an entirely different feel, far more real than the
dog walker gets in her sneakers.
They are now out of
my view. The music has stopped and my
creative needle wobbles freely, awaiting the next inspiration to start. Will it be a classic, maybe something
from long ago, a story perhaps? I guess
I’ll just have to wait along with you.
Hopefully it is something good.
zc
