I become an observer of shadows, as she does, the dancing light attracting us for a while.
Chasing a leaf, she jumps on rails and skitters twenty feet in no time.
I tiptoe gently behind her.
We explore. She disappears in the underbrush and I start my way to the garden, down to the lake.
She whines, You come back to me! she seems to say.
I cajole her.
I walk up to her and show her that I can get down and up to the garden space below. She could follow me and play and explore while I gather apples that have fallen.
She sits, watches me from the deck, crying for me to return.
She frets, moves from one end of the deck to the other.
I hurry as though a storm is approaching.
Her cry is my new weather vane.
I want to un-kinck my whole body the way she does, rolling on the grass, or the carpet edges, reach out and pull myself through and through.
I wonder how she manages her tail when she rolls.
One minute she is running all over the place.
The next, she is in a closet, behind clothes, all in a ball, napping away.