Wildflower Writes

Photo by  Pacific Austin  on  Unsplash   Trying to run in the winter is always a challenge, especially since I prefer to workout in the mornings. The combination of pre-dawn darkness, below-freezing temperatures, and slippery sidewalks make the goal of putting in 10-15 miles a week a difficult task. This morning, as I dodged an icy patch while running over a bridge, I thought I glanced something moving over my right shoulder. It turned out that a flag was flying in front of one of the tall streetlights, casting a flickering shadow over my running route. It was nothing to be afraid of, it was literally just a shadow. The Chinese have a word, zhilaohu , that has been translated “paper tiger.” It’s used to refer to something that has the appearance of a threat, but really has no ability to cause harm. Like the flitting shadow that startled me on my run, many fears that keep us from reaching our goals are not real. They have no substance, but they stand in the way of...

I was wrapping up my daily "run" (more walking than...) and the breeze blowing through the shade trees lining the street was delicious. Now, if I had just stood outside and felt the wind blowing on my face, it would be pleasant, but not the highlight of my morning. It took the effort... the exertion... the sweat dripping from my brow... to truly appreciate the breeze caressing my face. I think life is like that sometimes. Food is never more tasty than when you've gone without food. A kind word is never more appreciated than when you feel beaten up. Not everything in our lives is good, but good can be found in everything.

“It’s a golden doodle,” said my co-worker. She had brought pictures of her new puppy to work. “A what?” I asked. “A cross between a golden retriever and a poodle. A golden doodle.” she repeated. The photograph showed a miniature canine with pale gold kinky fur, long ears, and bright black eyes. It was playing in the grass. “Where does the “d” come from in doodle?” I asked. A doodle was a scribble on a piece of paper. It was not a dog. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed, a little exasperated with me. I remember the days when dogs stuck to their own kind. There were no schnoodles or doodles or mi-kis. Who do we think we are, messing with nature? My first dog was one third red setter, one third husky, and one third collie. I’m not sure how you breed a dog by thirds, but that was how I remember it. Her name was Frances. She loved to run through the open field at the end of the road. Frances also liked to swim, which was bad news whenever she managed to escape from the house. S...

Continued from 4/18 post… With alarm, Wendy noticed the two boys walking her direction. She could not be seen like this, almost out of control. Despite the downpour she began walking toward the parking lot. As soon as she passed the front gate, she broke into a jog, then a run. She began sprinting toward the “A9” mounted on a pole that designated her parking area. She didn’t see other people, or cars, as tears blurred her vision and mixed in with the rain, washing over her face. She jammed the key into the lock, swung open the door to her red Corolla, and sat quickly, slamming the door. She swallowed and blinked, trying to regain control, but then crumpled. The sobs came out loudly now, and she pounded her steering wheel. “Why daddy, why?” she screamed. She had called in sick at work that day, not able to face anyone. She tried to escape the inner turmoil by going to the park, but it had caught up with her. The cancer was supposed to be gone. When he was diagnosed the first time, both ...