Up the mountain path we go, leaves as deep as snow , around our ankles. Dante grabbing the largest longest heaviest stick he can lift, racing past, thwacking my calves, as usual.
Up up and then around the little bend- down into a small valley, around a curve, and up again, until we catch sight of the big rock.
I find it to be such a beautiful ancient thing. Today it's all green and mossy, with very distinct markings upon it. Various creatures with pretty big claws are marking their territory, on the sides and the top. Recently.
I look closely and Dante takes in the animal smells, with great interest. It's important for him to become accustomed to the smells of his wild neighbors. To know their urine and their scat. Their markings on trees and rocks. Places where they have curled and slept.
He needs to know that they live here, and not be thrown off guard, when we meet up with them. Or at least, in his frenzy, somewhere in the back of his mind, knowing that yes, we realized these creatures lived here.
And it's a bit more peaceful now too. In part because all of the excited hunters, of the ed and then released small clueless birds , are running all over the place. Not here on the range,but anywhere there are no 'No Hunting' signs, bang bang banging away all day long.
Really, I don't see the sport in it. Like shooting fish in a fishbowl. But there you have it.
And fall is moving along. Both factors contribute to bear, now with more fully grown cubs, and deer, taking to the deeper country. In preparation for the post Thanksgiving humungo shootout.
So we don't hear any rustlings; it's a little more peaceful for me, with a dog.
On either side of the trail are most fragrant wintergreen plants, nestled into the leaves with Pippsissewa, an excellent plant for the urinary tract, and Squawvine ( new name, anyone?) , a very gentle female hormonal tonic. with delicious, nourishing small red berries, all winter long. We reach the clear flowing stream, but for once ,he doesn't submerge himself immediately. Because instead, he's wrestling with some huge dead Birch, vigorously ripping it apart with his teeth.
As we turn to walk back down the trail , passing by another rock, slightly smaller, looking to see that someone has taken some considerable time with their claws to rip out one little section of it.
The coloration is different. Is it a mineral they wanted to consume? I wonder what motivated them?
As we crunch our way back down through the ever nakedening trees. The sky a pale blue, with phosphorescent clouds here and there.
The fall day stretching on before us.
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