Saturday, May 14, 2016


Going toward the roads that lead to the farmer’s fields, I had the thought to keep going and try out the public fields. It was more of an intuition in actuality, because the ‘thought’ or logic says that a Saturday afternoon in the common fields can border on a nightmare ‘people’ wise. There seem to be so many folks from dog walkers to photographers with tripods and equipment, all the way to joggers and families and back again,- that there is no sprawling and solitary freedom to be had. Why am I thinking this? - I thought. But I missed the first road and continued on and chalked it down to a min-fate. Let’s see, - I mused, how it is there. It’s only really ten minutes on and I can double back. Heck, last time I could barely find a parking spot. You go out to what is supposed to be ‘the middle of proverbial nowhere,’ and it seems Tom, Dick, Harry, not to mention Joan, Sally, and Cindy, - all had the same idea about going and experiencing the middle of nowhere. 

I got lucky. The macro is the macro, but a mini sort of Providence smiled.

As I crossed the train tracks past the rural dog kennel, - I saw the lot. 

And there was nobody there.

Yup. - Absolutely empty.

Spirits raised now, - we parked and headed off with feelings of freedom and clarity. Sure, it was cold but the rain that held everyone in abeyance had now gone. It was like it shut itself off for us. There was soon the deep green and cultured field on the right and the mostly flat open spaces on the left. Some water droplets had attached themselves to the Pines, - the Pines which are now in a sort of adolescence I suppose. I have watched them since infancy and they have made it though the hot summers, the cool autumnal times of slow but certain death to many things, and even the icy vast snow laden winters. The Pines have ‘true grit’ and all the great clichés. 

Some weird plants had winding parts that went back and seemed to almost loop around them. They looked like some kind of wild-berry plants and these looping and interestingly knotty parts reminded me of fine copper wire right in the middle of nature. Not bad. As I crossed past them I heard the regular breeze which sounded a lot like the sea, turn up in amplitude and volume. It was thrashing itself against the large valley to the right beyond the berries, trying to tell the beginning or end of some, to its way of thinking anyhow, important part of a story. Tessa picked up right away on the intensity of it and looked up and moved away. 

It was as if the ocean tide was not only going to arrive, but flood in right over the treetops. Of course there is no ocean, but even the most perceptive and wise blind man could have been fooled by the imitative sounds the fierce winds were making during those long moments.

As we went up a ridge way, I took a moment and surveyed the landscape. Far off, at the bottom of the acreage, an animal with a beautiful white or very light colored tale ran across the path. I first thought it was a large fox. Then I considered the idea that it could have been a small or medium sized coyote. These animals all, expect for racoons which seem to either be naturally or intentionally sluggish, lackadaisical, are so keen, quick, perceptive. He or she had heard us from, what? - A full half-kilometre off? – But it was not ready to hide or run just yet. It wanted to get a look at us. So, it waited. I waited also. Finally, surmising that we were too big, too many, for whatever, - it pranced off up a long space between two series of trees and disappeared, almost like a dissolving vision, - into the thicker forest.

We slowly and unceremoniously walked onward, which was downwards, - and made our way
across where he (I shall call him ‘he’), had been. The rain and wind had thrown a lot of branches and messed up the already naturally dishevelled chaparral. Soon it was up and up a hill and around a bend. There was an old tree that seemed to sit and witness the fields. As if with a soul, the old guy stood still and placid amongst the ongoing loquacious afternoon winds. It was as if the night storms, though gone, had left remnants of themselves.

Where were the die hards? I thought to myself. Sometimes it’s funny because a person is ran into that says they go there all the time. I am not sure about the psychology behind that, because if a person went there all the time and you went there for almost three years, - chances are you would have run into each other. So, its bullocks that such a person goes there all the time. What a silly thing for people to utter. Nobody was there. Soon though, two silhouettes and a black dog appeared far and far in the distance. They had come in after, and would not venture as far as us, where the fox or coyote was, - so were already circling back. I looked up at the sky and it was all cloud cover, as opaque a top as I have ever seen. 

It was getting ready to rain again. The minutes had learned how to be hours and the hours were fast becoming an entire afternoon if not a day. 

We headed back out. 

Taking a few pictures of this vista or that, - I also was able to photograph the two dogs together when they stopped and looked around, mostly out at the open spaces. Once the shots were taken- I became filled with energy and jumped in the air to awaken their spirits and ‘get them going,’ to have some fun as it were. Yelling ‘C’mon!’ I began to run across the field and they went wild in excitement. They ran like this not minutes before, - but had caught their second wind as it were. Now, they were a wind with the wind, against the wind, across the wind. Straightaway and then zig zagging, circling, and then jumping together playing in the air…

A long and calm walk afterwards brought us to the entrance. Some others had arrived on the
other side. They looked cold and not disheartened, but neither too happy. Most people long for the perfect sunny afternoon w/cumulus, picaresque sun, the whole enchilada. They are not as a rule intrigued or inspired by dark, overcast, cold and incredibly windy environs as I am!

On the way back I stopped and snapped a few pictures of some tractors and trucks I liked. 

Behind, through, around, and amid their souls the determined and loud winds, sounding just like an ocean at highest tide, still sounded.


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