Author: LFSAlden

December 7th

A certain spot in the woods obscures itself for over half the year;
I can see it from my front step,
from my yard,
from my meadow,
from the place where a deck could be in the future.

I plan to spend coffee time on that deck,
breathing the forest air deeply
and trying not to think about mosquitoes
and bundling up warmly to brush away snow and sit,
with my coffee – not strong, hazelnut syrup, double cream –
for as long as I please.

I will look at that spot in the woods and nod to it and lift my coffee cup and listen to it and talk to it and exchange the news of the world.

This tangle of hemlock-on-hemlock obscures itself by dark needle and distance and, on a good mist-rising morning, by holding itself back behind the beaver pond, so that the mist occludes it.

But then the snow falls

and every needle stands out sharp and clear as crystal

The mild and hidden goddess, revealed as shining power for a moment before she shrouds herself again and walks among the Tree People.

Horatio Hound to the Rescue!

(a wee gift to the tiny people of the world)

     Horatio Hound wiggled his whiskers in his sleep.  He twitched his paws.  He ruffled his very long ears.  Finally he opened his eyes and rolled onto his tummy.
     "No, no," said The Cat, "you rolled the wrong way!  Now you're out of the sunlight!"  The Cat was a championship sunbather.
     "But hark, The Cat!  I perceived a sound!" replied Horatio, his nostrils flaring.
     "Is it a mouse?" asked The Cat.
     "No, regrettably, it is not a mouse," answered Horatio.  The Cat sighed, re-wrapped her tail around her paws, closed her eyes, and returned to her meditations.
     Horatio, not content to let a new, strange sound go uninvestigated, stretched and stood and listened.  The sound drifted into the sunny parlour from the kitchen, and it was a sound of crying.
     Alert now, Horatio Hound trotted to the kitchen where he found Baby Walter wailing disconsolately at his mother, sitting up high in the high chair.
     "The pink pachyderm!  The pink pachyderm has fallen to its doom!" wailed Baby Walter.  He was only one year old, so he could still speak the language of animals.  "Alas and alack!  Mother, why do you not understand me?"
     Horatio licked Baby Walter on the foot in a comforting manner and answered.  "Baby Walter, your lovely mother speaks only the limited language of humans!  She is unable to comprehend this situation.  Please, friend, allow me to attempt sign language with her!  Tell me where the pink pachyderm may yet be found."
     Baby Walter sobbed a small sob and slowed the ferocity of his outcries.  "West-by-southwest it fell, toward the bright constellation of Scorpius, but it fell so far that I can no longer perceive it."
     Horatio took a sniff to find the North Star (which a good hound can detect even by daylight).  He turned himself three times around to activate the magnetic compass in his brain.  He found west-by-southwest exactly, put nose to the floor, and began tracking the toy.
     Suddenly, he caught the scent of a well-loved stuffy!  Nosing under the couch and straining his head as far as he could go, Horatio found the pink pachyderm and picked it up in his teeth, saved!
     He returned to where Mommy was trying to comfort Baby Walter and sat proudly, toy dangling from his mouth.
     Mommy said something in human language and then said "Good boy, Horatio," and accepted the slightly soggy pink pachyderm.  
     "Thank you, Horatio," said Baby Walter, now calm, from up in the high chair.
Horatio smiled.

December 5

I couldn’t post yesterday, couldn’t tell why, got on with my busy day until I saw poinsettias, red and green with golden ribbons, cream and green with golden ribbons.

Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.

Today, the fifth, on the other hand (though I did not use the first hand, it was busy holding coffee), seems to be about the Penguin Toy.

How close can a little dog get to the big dog’s Penguin Toy without causing a ruckus?

Apparently, it’s all about the eyes. If he does not look directly at the Penguin Toy, he can even snuggle it…

Stay tuned!

November 27th

They are so very patient with me, good doggers.

I confess to walking very little lately, a sign that the body and mind and spirit are vulnerable.

So they call me, every day, to come out “just a little, a Mhamaidh! It’s so lovely! We will stay near!”

They are so very beautifully patient.
Today, they showed me six different places that are good for making snow-dog-angels
and thus coaxed me further than I have walked in a fortnight.

Doggers know best.

November 26th

The horizon of bare branches seem two-dimensional, some invention of ink on dawn-washed construction paper

Yet the pines, further back, are clearly further back because they veil themselves in mist.

There are days when one must woof right out of the starting gate just in case. This is one of those days.

November 25th

Sharing the journey.
It’s nice to walk in company,
Whether we chatter or speak of weighty things or make one another laugh

Or hold companionable silence.

It’s nice to walk alone as well,

But so much better to walk this meandering, surprising, turning path with dogs.
With them all things are adventures,
With them all things are about now and love and discovery.

Thank you, good doggers.

November 22nd

Now the trees look stark.
The snow is not new and lovely,
and it has left the trees’ limbs.

Now it is November, and I reach for sweaters.

A Mahamaidh, do not be ridiculous! It is DOG TIME!
It is always DOG TIME!

And that means it is always good.

I stand corrected. It is DOG TIME!