The inherent sweetness of the new morning was palpable, a fragile clarity hanging in the air that seemed too delicate for the hurried pace of later hours. Time in this nascent stage of the day felt wonderfully early and stretched out and unburdened. Along the quiet stretch of residential sidewalks a figure moved with a measured appreciative rhythm and accompanied by a presence both vital and grounding: Lizbeth.
The routine was a ceremony performed daily as a necessary pilgrimage toward the older neighborhood sections where the architecture of nature dominated the human structures. Lizbeth was a creature of profound and unadulterated purpose. She was defined by her fine coat of fur kept pristine and glossy and the beautiful symmetry of her four feet which provided a low and steady counterpoint to the Walker’s steps. She was not merely a pet but a friend of deep significance—a living testament to fidelity and the virtue of the present moment.
They moved toward the old boundaries where the neighbor had long ago mandated the planting of grand deciduous trees. These were not saplings but giants—branches forming cathedral arches over the street casting intricate and oscillating patterns onto the concrete. The lawns flanking the sidewalks were now brilliantly green and marvels of dedicated care wonderfully mowed so that the scent of freshly clipped blades mixed subtly with the cold earthen perfume of morning dew. The setting was one of cultivated serenity as a landscape that whispered of permanence and human effort sustained over generations.
Lizbeth held the leash loosely yet with a tension that spoke of readiness. Her purpose was entirely focused on the immediate environment dictated a pace that was exquisitely stop-and-go. This was the Lizbeth Cadence: a series of short deliberate paces, a smooth low gait that would suddenly fracture into stillness. She would halt placing all four feet in perfect alignment her nose lifting fractionally to sift through the complex stratum of scent delivered by the morning breeze.
For the Walker these pauses were the most rewarding elements of the walk. They served as mandatory interruptions to human thought forcing a shift from future worries or past recollections to the vibrant reality unfolding in the present. Learned while traversing these sidewalks alongside Lizbeth was that true observation required silence and absolute commitment.
The early hour was a theater for small beasts and birds. With Lizbeth stationary and watchful—her great purpose suspended in the act of detailed analysis—one could truly begin to listen. The sounds were subtle: the quick flutter of wing-beats as a robin pulled an earthworm from the still-damp soil; the territorial chatter of a squirrel asserting its dominance over a nearby oak and the distant mechanical sigh of the neighborhood beginning a long slow inhalation.
Lizbeth provided the focal point for this observation. Her concentration drew the eye downward toward ground-level dramas. A frantic chipmunk, a blur of fur and nervous energy, darted across the lawn and paused exactly at the sidewalk’s edge while assessing the threat posed by the very still and large dog. Lizbeth acknowledged its presence not with a chase but with a slight tension in her shoulders and a near-imperceptible shudder of excitement that spoke volumes about her innate and respectful recognition of the wildness surrounding her.
The birds were particularly active in the cool light. Sparrows moved in busy parties along the hedge rows, their motions precise and economical, searching for seed dropped the night before. Higher up among the placed trees that had seen decades, a blue jay issued its ringing and confident cry, its vivid colors a startling contrast to the soft greens and grays of the dawn. Every motion was intentional with every notion belonging only to the necessity of survival in the early hour.
It was these shared halts and these momentary freezes in the flow of time that defined the friendship between the Walker and Lizbeth. Lizbeth’s great purpose was not merely to protect or accompany but to anchor. She served as a compass pointing always toward authenticity and insisting that the journey be experienced in segments of observation rather than continuous motion.
As the sun began to climb higher while strengthening its light and warming the stones underfoot, the sweetness of the early morning began to transmute into the promise of the day ahead. The pace lengthened again with short paces dissolving into a steady stride. The tranquility secured during those moments of stillness—watching the small beasts and listening to the high notes of the morning birds—remained. The morning was indeed sweet and the time though now advancing had been expertly spent and guided by a four-footed friend whose simple and immediate purpose provided a profound lesson in the art of living well.
And! Beautiful you are…
Empathy determines the variety of groups’ survival and through the artistic impressions of all things determined and created. Landing places are measured by the spaces between Zero and One. Computer’s shrug in ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. Where one arrives is never known until travel ends and arrival begins. To Heaven—to hell? Perspective 
‘Fire and shadows cross a sky—Color moon of blood and gold—Simple songs and thudding drum—Stars light up another home—We move by wind across this place—In sunlight waves and dancing twists—Of silver rain and stretching space—Ship’s gentle streaks in skies of grace—With muted voice and silent rooms of—Blood touched throat and emptied tombs—Bridge walked toward and skylight’s scream—By taking flight and falling dream—Warming suns of days ago—With salted mist and taste of tongue—Lights of passion—times of rain—Wolf cries shout of sands and home—Across this universal stretch—Window shine in candle’s light—And let us touch another peace—Of safety sleep and lover’s reach.’
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