We walked through the damp field after a night of rain and wind that kept us on the edge, never quite awake, but certainly not asleep. The whole field was one long puddle, sodden beneath the mist still hanging in the cool morning air.
“People,” I thought aloud, and Charley listened, “People say the meanest things and don’t even realize it.”
He looked up at me with his brown eyes I love more than words can say, and I petted his soft black head. He rubbed his face against my leg so I would scratch under his chin.
All the love poured through, and we were glad there together, Charley and me, by the flowers welcoming the day.
“I prayed for the Spirit to open up my heart for you,” I told him. “To make room for you. To expand my love so I’d love you with my whole heart no matter what you were like.” Kneeling, I kissed his brow and felt his velvety ears between my fingertips. “Turns out you’re altogether wonderful. But you might not have been, at least to me, if I’d kept my heart closed.”
He bounded off toward the treeline where Bear was waiting, looking back at us, wondering whatever profound thoughts live inside him.
“You did the same when Bear came along, and I prayed again for my heart to ache as it opened up just that much more to welcome him in, too.”
We kept walking, the three of us, Charley, Bear, and me, through the quiet birdsongs drifting down from the treetops.
The sun kept rising higher, and the mist gave way to the warming.
“I suppose,” I whispered, “I ought to pray the same for my heart about people.”
Amanda Johnston 