At 6:30 this
morning, my beloved went off with a good friend to Boston, and all at sixes and
sevens, I grabbed the pup and slipped on my flip flops, arms akimbo in a
polarfleece, and drove down to the Eagle Sanctuary Road, to lose myself in the
coming day. The skies were pink and blue striped, and we kept walking down the
chilly dirt road to who-knows-where, though I realized the river would be down
there somewhere, and I was restless inside and out, needing the leg-stretching
and the mind-emptying and the deep-breathing, as did the muscular Shepherd, so
on we went.
Past the
farmer's kitchen garden, full of tall Kales of all varieties, and delicate
Sweet Annie with its' aromatic miniature seeds and flowers in the morning
breeze. The mounds of squash waiting pickup, and the cow cornfields just about
all harvested, farming having no time for folly.
Down a curve
into the river valley woods we went, down a small hill and into the overgrowth,
its darkness and deep green such beauty on such a day. We hung a right, and
caught sight of the waters, bringing a big smile to my face, I'll tell you, as
we approached a wooden staircase leading neatly down to the beach.
Course, Dante
was afraid of the weirdo stairs , we got down them and it was all about the
water, racing back and forth, the wet sanding giving the pup feet delicious
purchase.
Across the
way, one enormous white bird, not an Egret, took flight upstream. The waters
rippled and lapped the shore from the wind pressing by, the colors of the skies
the kind of thing that could save you, on a bad day, and set you right on a
good enough morning.
So I stood
and he stood, breathing deeply the clean delicious air, feeling the breeze in
our hair and fur, watching the waters pressed upon the shore, and all of life
unwound and settled and my racing heart grew still.
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