This is Rocky’s Time. Rocky, who sees nothing, but is aware of everything.

Who has made it to another Spring, his first without the human being who cared for him his whole life.

Sometimes I want to cry for Rocky, as I do not believe he will see another Spring.

But he is enjoying this one. Rocky’s time is beyond him, in some ways.

He is a messenger, I think, a prophet come to remind us that love is more powerful than anger, fear or power.

That we all have our time.

I know his rythyms now, his routines, his ballet of life. To the barn for hay. To the creek for water.

To the corner of the field to brush himself against a fallen tree.

To graze in his big and open pasture.

To sense, rather than see, the world around him.

To the side of the fallen barn to lie down and take in the full force of the sun.

To the gate for his visitor, for his daily apple, which he accepts as if he has been receiving it

his whole life.

Rocky, like so many other animals, teaches us acceptance.

There is no regret, no sorrow, no drama. He is not sad about his life, or his loss.

There is just Rocky’s TIme. His time.