The sun filtered through the forest roof and down to the
floor. It was getting to be colder, and the frost had visited for a few nights.
Gone were the wildflowers save for a particular brand of purple ones and even
those were only seen in a few places. It would be a while before the winter announced
itself with the enthralling first snow cover. In the meantime there were these
things,- the remnants of the summer,- some bushes that mistakenly made buds or
else had scheduled autumn blossoms, the birds, late to migrate,- circling in
the distance near the tree lines.
Some other artifacts and atmospheres. The
night was coming earlier and earlier. There was some mood or
feeling that
stirred and it was not something that could be named, but had to do with old
knowledge carried in the cells and memory and bones and blood,…carried it can
be said, - by the soul and roused to the forefront for seconds or parts of
seconds as some farmer’s fire could be smelt, wafted and brought by a distant
wind to where the one walked with the canines. Sometimes they would stop and
watch and smell and feel the mood of the place or parts of the place. ‘Parts,’
because though it looked like was ultimately one forest, - wide, long, lovely,
even sacrosanct, it was also different here on this path than it was there on
that ridge. Different nearer the valley floor where hardly any soul went to
than in the open and common beginning that most all traversed. Different in certain
hours, - say, than in others. Nuance and discernment were the names that came
to mind.
And so the walking and the waiting continued. The dogs joyous,
curious, sniffing, running, playing, being. The man watching over them, caring
for them, guiding when guiding was called for, and being guided when that was
in order. Through all this, the sun then filtered through the forest roof and
down to the floor like a light that could wash away doubt.
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