Wednesday, November 16, 2016


I heard a slight yelp, a little cry, and I looked back to see the husky dog had called it out. This was strange, rare. He is spry, proud, individualistic, agile, highly-highly-highly intelligent, and knows what he is doing. Yet, he must have stepped the wrong way on a rock or branch hidden under the floor of leaves that cover the forest there. I and the other, his sister by adoption, a Sheppard mix, - waited and crouched down to tend to him. He limped a little bit. But, he talked to me three times and each time assured me in his own way that he was fine, and needed to walk it off. I, the doting father and worrisome guardian/custodian, - told him I wanted to see it, - just to make sure it was nothing serious. But you have to know him, have to spend time around him, have to be in his energy to know his spirit, his ways. He is not normal, and everyone who has met him has known it. He is special and his sister is also. Now, - everyone feels this way about their own, - but in this case it is true. Well, - he jumped on me twice, in order to reassure me, and he kept going. In a few strides he had worked it out and was prancing and dancing and running once more. Fine, I thought, fine so be it. We continued,- looking around, having adventures, seeing a woodpecker that to my astonishment did not flee, but stayed doing its work. So we went, along the path there, - strange crab apples in the sun, peculiar cotton flowers that fly in the wind and dance. Moss. Old discarded branches. Squirrels. Chipmunks. The far away sound of traffic as if from another world but echoing into the forest environs somewhat, somewhat, somewhat. Spirit showing itself through what would be to anyone’s standard or metric some friggin’ wildly odd cloud formations. And up and up the path towards where the sun watches down the valley. The slight yelp now ancient history as they say,- an early chapter in a series of events that happen fast but dance and tingle and mingle like a song sung by everything but somehow sung in a sort of sacred silence. And I wonder what happened to that old woodpecker sagacious and pretty with the splash of red feather atop his head just so.


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