One man and his faithful pooch, a fine partnership.It’s about midday dear reader, and I’m down on the river-walk, not far from the Ken Lane sundial. It’s an easy pleasure this, strolling, walking – and like the river and clouds, I’m meandering, floating . . .
Nanjing Night Net

I arrived here beside the river after I was asked, “What do you want to do today?”

And I suppose this walking, talking, this stopping by the river, is a type of “doing” – a type of action, a procedure, an exertion, an accomplishment – a verb no less.

And we’re asked at barbecues and pubs, at dinners, on trains and planes – “What do you do?” “What

do you want to do?” “What have you been doing?”

In knowing what it is that occupies our time, what is it that we do, we know something of each other, something is revealed I suppose. Some essential ingredient of ourselves is published, some secret conceded.

And it’s not only our occupations, what we do for a crust – be it a gardener, a truck driver, a lawyer, a writer, a nurse, a cook, a dancer or a designer, but what choose to do with at our leisure, what we do when we are faced with a dilemma, a moral quandary.

What do we do indeed?

And down there beside the river, down behind old Galtons, down there as I was doing nothing much of anything, I met a magnificent old bloke from Kurri walking his faithful little dog.

As we talked and while the river flowed slowly, inexorably on toward the ocean – he told me of the things he had done with his life, what he remembered.

He told me how he had helped build the levees around Lorn after the flood, how he saw vegetables growing across there on the other side, how the farmer used a horse to plough the soft soil – potatoes they were, beauties he said.

He remembered Sim Bros, remembered the flood, the old bridge, remembered driving trucks across it and the floodplain, remembered working on engines and such –s and his hands and his eyes spoke of the things he had done.

He told me of his little hearing dog, his “little doer” – his little mate who would wake him if there was a fire, if there was danger. And old Arch, he patted that beautiful little doer, his little companion – and there beside the river while we were both doing not much at all, I learnt some things about here, about life, that I’m glad I know.

And further on, down in the soft grass of the beautiful, timeless Horseshoe Bend I sat, wondering on what we do with our days – and what we will and won’t do – what our hearts will commit to, what our will can, and cannot yield to.

And for some reason I remembered that book about Atticus Finch, and Boo Radley, about right and wrong, about bravery and cowardice – I remembered them and those two children, a boy and girl – remembered what they chose to do, how they chose to live, what they did.

I thought about Arch and us, about how the river flows on – and I knew that we’ve just got to do what we can, do what we should.

And, so it goes dear reader . . . Goodnight.

This story Administrator ready to work first appeared on Nanjing Night Net.

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