Reading the newspaper
Walking the thin lipped ledge of a desert mesa with Jack.
Original photo of Jack, by B. Littleton
When I walk Jack out at Hondo Wash we no longer walk the path at the edge of the world for distance. We go so Jack can read his newspaper. Jack, is sixteen years old; he’s a border collie and coyote mix, bred for the genetic encoding of protecting a herd while innately, intuitively predicting predator behavior. He is my best friend and constant companion, and his needs are important to me. When he joined me fifteen years ago, covering three miles a day was easy for both of us. Now, distance is not the metrics. Time inspecting clumps of plants and blades of grass, of perusing and decoding each whiff, order and trace of any species having passed this way leaving their scent, their story, their deposit of life, fills the thirty or forty minutes of our daily ceremony out on the thin lip of desert mesa ridge. While Jack reads his paper, I read the sky, this color of the hills, the shadows stretched across the valley floor. My own internal newspaper unfolds as I imagine each section of the day clearly, pace by pace, moving through a sequence of time, sessions, ports of chores in town. What am I hungry for? What is important today? What wants my attention? What words want to land on the page?
Jack gathers his information to know what happened during the past twenty-four hours lapse since he last walked the boundaries of his life. I, instead, receive indicators of possible options, choices, innuendos of responsibilities and lingering desires of how to dress my day. When we are back in the car, we share a sense of completion, if not satisfaction. There’s an understanding of combined achievement and union. We are ready, regardless. The silence we share driving home punctuates the rightness of it all.
The thin lipped ledge of life is precarious, precious, brief, yet enduring. I know our time together is limited, as it is with all whom I love. The graciousness of moments echo a pattern of clarity, connection, and creative joy. May the energy of today instill a sense of purpose and direction, if even as a whiff, a scent, a trace of story lingering in this breath of time.
written by Bren Littleton
Tin Flea Press c. 2026
Original photo of Jack, by B. Littleton