No Animal is a Mountain

No Animal is a Mountain

So the theory goes that if you want to do something right, do it yourself…. Whenever I want to bury my bone, or even better, find my bone, I stick by this motto.  Dang it, nothing should get in the way of me and my bone.  But then, through experiences, most often times, I found myself alone… alone with my bone.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Bones are great!  And, if you have them all to yourself, they are pretty darn unbeatable.  But, at the end of the day, you are alone. My dadz and some of his friends, who, according to my momma are a group of rag tag musicians, recently got together and shared some fun, laughter, and crab delights, out on the beach of Alki… a western point of Seattle.  Everyone had their purpose, brought along their gift, so to speak.  Some brought their guitars, some their wine from their wineries, and others brought along their seafood.  I brought my bone.  I joined by dadz on his outing. I watched my dadz, while I, settled on a shady piece of beach, chewed on my bone.  My dadz was with his friends, in his element, laughing and enjoying the summer breezes.  He would occasionally pull out his guitar and join in with the others.  His voice a bit more wobbly than their highly tuned gifts, but still he was enjoying himself.  My dadz friends would switch off instruments, laughing and increasing the joy of the moment.  Then when the winery doodz and fisherman friends showed up, the guitars went down and everyone shared in the food treasures...

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