I’m in the country this weekend, dogsitting for a friend.
Springtime is more noticeable here. There are songbirds at the feeder and a hawk circling the field, the buzzing of the clusterflies rising from the earth – creatio ex nihilo. But down the hill where the sun doesn’t shine, a layer of snow holds on to the ground like a lover.
My first act when I arrived this morning was to lay on the wood floors with my arms wrapped around the dog. Then, after stirring the fire, I sat outside in the air with the dog at my feet, her hounddog eyes tracking everything that moved. It was too cold this morning to sit like I was, on a bench in the front yard with only a t-shirt on, but my skin craved the light.
Then a hike up Mt Philo, a dog and a friend in tow. (Mostly for the fresh air, but also to check in on my knee. This is a test. If I can hike, then I can hike Mt Washington. If I can ski, than I can ski Tuckerman Ravine.)
All in all, the country day my spirit craved. The dirt road, the wood-fueled furnace, the cat asleep by the fire, the dog chasing squirrels across the yard. A few words on a page. That’s all.