mental things

a rolling stone gathers no moss

I’m sitting in front of my imaginary Mind-Map.
Sorting thoughts, brooding about things, biking near the fields of my homeland, looking on Woody while he lolls about the grass.
I enjoy watching him, keeping on brooding, smiling, gaping about the power inside him…
Woodstock… My baby, my dog, my everything. Doesn’t matter what it will be, no matter where I go, whatever I will do, he is in! That‘s for sure!
The sun is shining, Woody is jumping into the Water, bringing a stick after one another and shaking his butt like if he would be the filicity in person.
Dogs would be better humans is what I think.

I go back to my Bike. Woody is trotting beside me, without a leash, fully relaxed, happily smiling and panting.
I think about the quote which shaped me while I was in Australia a couple of years ago…. a rolling stone gathers no moss
Simple and clever.
Stay on the move.
Do not gather moss!

I caught my self brooding again.
I even brood about Brooding.
What is the difference of brooding and thinking?
Once I was told this: The one who is brooding will never reach the aim. The one who is thinking will get the answer sooner or later.
I’m always brooding.
So will I never reach the „aim”?

The journey is the reward would then mean that everyone is allready at this „aim“, for all those who are brooding.
So am I allready there?
Is this brooding, back and forth throwing of thoughts of all kind and exercising with all the small things of the world which are trivial and not worthy of any attention for others my destiny, my way, my aim?
And doesn’t it mean stillstand when reaching the aim, beeing at the end of the way?
Do not gather moss!

I keep on biking.
Breathing, hearkening, listening, watching, pedaling.
Woody is still running beside me, frequently smiling at me as he would like to say how happy he is while running.
Stopping again, not with my thoughts.
Woody is jumping into the water, shaking, beaming at me.
He does exactly know what we will do, I’m telling myself.
I’m stroking him, embracing him, telling him how much I love him.
Some moss is drops on my shirttail.

Woody is smiling, shaking his butt, dashing over the grass into the water.
I throw a limb twice as big as woody, bigger than me.
He is always biting through small ones.
He needs tasks.
Woody does never gather moss.

– 12 days later –

Woody is laying beside me on his mat while Snoring, squeaking and muscle twitching with his mouth corners.
I’m recalling the first day of our trip to the end of the rhine-route while I am writing this lines and like every little while I’m brooding about the past and upcoming events and experiences.
Today, Woody had a task.
We biked 63 Kilometer today. He ran roughly half of it.
When we set up our Tent, there was a couple with a little lady dog which Woody has to play and run with for at least 30 minutes. This dog is incredible.
I sometime think that he is converting every kind of love and affection towards him into some kind of energy.
Woody does never gather moss. Only if he must.

Hundreds of geese are flying over our tent. Not even 10 meters above our heads.
„low flying birds portend rain!“ That is something I have learned in my childhood by Asterix and Obelix. If it is correct? It doesn’t look like rain.
Could also be due to the nature conservancy- & breeding area which is next to us. I still think Asterix and Obelix are right.
I’m consulting the Watch. Already that late?

Do not gather moss, they say.

But tonight thats exactly what we will do. And we’ll be able to knock it off tomorrow morning.

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