Dogs, everywhere, are trying to remind us
not that we should wag our tails
and be free,
but that we are free
to wag our tails.
It’s okay to be wild again,
to run free through the park,
along the beach,
arms to the sky,
face to the wind.
The wilderness reminds us
of our wildness.
The branch that grows straight lacks courage;
it has tried to fit an inorganic mould,
one that it has observed on the pavement below,
on the building across the road.
“You will be the first branch to break,” warns the tree.
“And you won’t be able to blame the wind.
You’re not meant to grow straight,
you’re meant to bend,
and yield to the wind that will mould you.
But first you have to surrender
to your wildness,
to your bumps and your curves,
your so-called imperfections,
and once you accept these things,
these things you try so hard to reject,
they will be the very things
that make you proud of yourself.
And when the wind says fall
you will fall,
and you will be one of the reasons
why the dog wags its tail.
And you, too, will be wagging
in your own unique way.”
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