kindness

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Across the street this morning, a woman whom I recognize from the neighborhood but whose name I don't know walked with a slow preciseness. She seems to be in her 40's or perhaps early 50's and she certainly looks capable of a faster pace, but she was walking two dogs and a cat ... out for the morning bathroom run.

Each of the dogs was held by an extending leash, something that gave some latitude to the dogs' movement. In each of the woman's hands were red holders from which the leashes extended or contracted according to her will.

One of the dogs, the younger of the two, walked out in front of its mistress by about 20 feet. The other, clearly old, walked dutifully, but without much surging interest, behind. The younger dog led by 20 feet; the older dog followed at about the same distance; and the leashless cat bobbed along with the crowd, orange tail sashaying as it went, loping now and then into the street and then circling back for companionship.

There was no discussion. The woman walked with a slowness that acknowledged who was in command. The old dog was old. S/he too had once been peppy and curious and full of life, but that was then in this was now.

Now the fizz of muscle and mind were ... inescapably slowed and needing attention ... which the dog's mistress gave. The woman walked with the slow preciseness of a forest monk and yet made nothing of it ... no robes, no ideology, no garrulous intention, nothing holy.

Sometimes I think that an honest kindness involves little more than paying attention to circumstances, acting accordingly ... and making sure the cat doesn't get run over.
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