Dave Smith


Every morning my eyes blink into a new day with my cats at purrrr at my side.  If a    migraine stomps the forests of my imaginings, Taz adds a paw to my forehead, a skrinching massage rhythmed with vibration of his deep chest hum tight against my head.  If thinks echo demands to find their way to a page, Nani’s quiet “mreowww’s” climb up my side, a furred pressure to let them simmer and grow.  Soon my bud’s curl and stretch a v-body

entanglement of face licks insisting breakfast should be considered.  If the blues hold my heart, their instinct generates a played idiocy that brings my deep chest chortles and a sunshine into the windows of my pensive everywhere.  Yes, a hint of John Donne lives with me as well.

Companions come in many forms if I but take moments to notice.  A white intricacy of feather-like seed drifts in a breeze, a chickadee chippers, a chipmunk scampers up the back of a squirrel to join the bird feeder raid, a woodchuck lumbers to a neighbor’s downed tree     menagerie – mostly I find the Spirit of God and enjoy the wondrous company – if I but notice.