December 3rd

Most mornings when I wake, she is stretched out long and deep asleep. Her little body all consumed by sleeping. Her eyes fast shut. Her breath big sighs. Completely lost in sleep and staying that way.

Yet when I gently touch her, like a sea anemone curling around a fingertip, she rolls. Turns onto her back and curving her body into an impossible spiral, ready for tummy rubs without the smallest sign of waking.

Her body is tuned to hope. Seemingly hard wired to open herself to love as a reflex. To invite tickles and scratches by default. Her looping body spelling hope as her breath sighs without stirring.

The way she sits and waits and waits for food is something like determined faith with no blinking. The way she walks on my computer when I type too long and bundles her small but mighty body against my face is bold self love. But in the mornings when i wake, when she’s still sound asleep, the whole of her tiny curled and curly body bears hope.

Robin, a sleepy puppy, tousled curls and shiny wet nose, snuggled against my hand.