Walk by the river by planet p

Disclaimer I don't own any of the books in the Rachel Porter Mysteries series or any of their characters.

Spam is excited. She walks along down by the riverside. She's happy like this, uncomplicated. Just the dog, and the air, and ground beneath her shoes, solid ground.

She takes Spam for a walk; he's happy about that. He likes the park, or the path down by the river.

She likes the sound of the air rustling through trees and grass; if she listens hard, she can still hear these things through the hum of traffic and construction, shopping malls being put up, hardware giants being remodelled, hotels, houses, estates, parking lots.

She listens carefully. Life is many things, nowadays. She listens to the things others seem to have forgotten, in the rush of their new material, technological lives. They're always busy.

So is she.

She takes time to slow down. To slow the world down. To see what's real, what's important. Sometimes, it'll be a chore, getting there, but she'll always feel better afterward; something accomplished; it's still there, the world's still there. I can still hear it, beating along with my heart; I love you.

And she does. Why not? It's her world, she has a right.

So she loves it.

Spam loves it, too.

He loves to run and jump and yap, sometimes.

She lets him walk, and, sometimes, she lets him run. She's got to stay fit. She lets her mind wander among all of these things when she runs, all of these things she loves.

She knows that there are other people out there who love them just as much as she does, too. When she's lonely, the thought will sometimes keep her company. She knows because she can't believe that there isn't. She won't believe that there isn't.

I'm not alone, she thinks. And then there's Spam. Happy Spam.

Thanks for reading.