Walking Dogs

I watch this fellow every morning take his two dogs out. Walking with that backward lean of resistance as each dog strains against the leash. Something rare within the air drives them onward. Inside their eager bodies voices bark. Inhaling vital air they mark each step a-swift and pass me heavy-laden with memories of younger souls adrift, blood chasing through their veins fired with a youth of spirits. Rushing past me, stalking unseen prey; quickly sticking times loose moorings to the day. Every movement lifted, light, with inward grin pinning rabbits chased and caught to owners who have brought them to their freedom. Now chasing tennis balls in quick succession thrown, catching glimpses of obsessions, caught and brought to home. Each day this fellow walks them proud and full of grace, opening a Universe, so they may find their place.