This
morning's suspicion: that the weather is hungover. The sky is a sludge, very
much as though head-aching weather has smeared cloud around, thought 'that will
do,' and gone back to bed. A definite air of not being finished, under which I
decide to stroll, maybe towards the river, maybe not, because it is that sort
of a day. And while strolling with vague intent, I spy a path, an old path to
the top of the steep woods. Dog and I vanish in an oesophageal gap.
Dog's
eyes shine, borderline demonic, she is on some canine bacchanalia, dancing
crazy through the ground cover. I am stomping bramble-gates, sinking in pine
needle pile-ups, unhooking from crafty roots. There are openings into the
ground, set in the hill, that seem to slide under bedrock, just wide enough to
drag a person through. No one knows where I am; this thought comes as a
lovely shock. I could disappear. I could live here. It would be simple, in the
sense of a matter of keeping oneself alive. That's the loveliness of it.
Ah, and through the gentle, innocent eyes of this dog, the wonder of a hideaway brings me a sense of peace.
ReplyDeleteThank you for this.
In peace and pawsitivity, Penny the Jack Russell dog :)
I'd miss you.
ReplyDeleteGary and Penny! We once had a legendary Jack Russell named Penny. She would dive after seals- barely a glimmer of an idea of limitations in that dog!!
ReplyDeleteSuze- I would visit! Looking forward to my next woodland ramble but coming home to the Rayburn and the glorious smell of coffee soon redomesticated me :-)
:)
ReplyDeleteIt's funny to imagine anything redomesticating you. But I can certainly see coffee -- even the very scent of it brewing -- doing the trick. Ambrosia ...
This is only my version of domestic, which pretty much amounts to making things smell like coffee whilst vaguely living in a house :-)
ReplyDelete