Silence is not golden

Yesterday’s dervish was my Dakota.

Today’s was someone else’s, but I prayed for them all.

Yesterday morning, I heard what I could not see — my sweet puppy flying through the house like Superman. And listening, I observed what seemed unimaginable — a quiet voice directing a force of nature.

Today was different. I heard no voice, but I saw the wind. The air was cold and damp and moving fast. The sky was icy grey.

About a mile from Weatherford’s corner, on Highway 21 (Rowesville Road) toward Orangeburg, I saw another speeding puppy, a shepherd, maybe six or seven months old. He was running full-bore across my lane, across the median and, unstoppable, toward the fender of a muddy-gold jalopy.

I heard no voice of caution. There were no barriers between the pup and the car. Nothing slowed either one. I gasped, “oh” aloud, and I saw the collision. I heard the thud. I saw him roll, and I prayed.

“Lord, help them all.”

In a second or two, both were gone, but the pup remained in my sight a few seconds longer than the car. I did not stop. Tonight the pup is still there.

Tonight I’ll pray for more calm voices and less frenzy.

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