Early this morning I finished a book--not required reading, not reading aloud to my kids. Months ago a good friend loaned me her copy of The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. It was not the first time she had pushed a book in my hands insisting I read it. Based on her previous recommendations, it was surely a treasure. But when? My list of things to do exceeded the time available; pleasure reading was not even on the list.
Until this morning, that is. I curled up under an afghan on the couch while the house slept. With nowhere to go, no tasks to do, I turned page after page in blissful silence. The only sound was the occasional purring of a coiled cat on my lap or the sporadic snoring of the dog at my feet. In relished peace and quiet the beautiful story of a racecar driver narrated by a dog called Enzo unfolded. I laughed, I cried, I cheered him on.
Glancing down at my dog, I wondered what happens behind those golden-green eyes. Did he see his world with the clarity of Enzo or was he simply dreaming of fried eggs? I wanted to believe he was both--a loyal friend and protector along with a playful pooch enjoying a simple life. And this morning I enjoyed the simple pleasures of a great book.