A dog just taught me the sound of one hand clapping.
I had errands to finish before lunchtime. So I barreled along the highway, until—abruptly—I braked to a crawl.
A small SUV blocked me.
In this stretch of highway, speed limit 50 mph, the car ahead poked along at 30 mph.
Frustrating!
Rushing is what I do. I'm given to impatient finger tapping. My head's full of worries.
After a few annoyed minutes, staring at the slow car ahead, I noticed a dog in the back seat, calmly regarding me through the rear window. An old dog, muzzle gray, but with amiable brown eyes.
Those benign eyes seemed to say: "Friend, why hurry?"
Actually, I didn't know—why do I hurry?
I finished my chores. I drove home.
All the way I remembered that old dog's kind gaze, and I relaxed.
--Richard