Doggie In The Mist

Autumn is just starting to show hints of her fireworks display capabilities.  Green dominates yet, but you wouldn't know that from the sleek carpet of wet yellow, brown, red and orange leaves covering the ground-all thanks to a couple of days of stiff, cold winds.  There is a persistent, misty rain and a certain bite to the air that stirs awake something primal in your guts, an urge to get out and gather, a burst of nervous energy as your body and deeper parts of your brain remember the need to store and harvest and prepare for the long winter.

I have no need of my primitive drive to complete such tasks, but the energy is there, a restless itching to be out in the chilly fog.  I do, however, have a dog.  He is my walking companion, and we strut about this town and its outlaying hamlets daily.  I am grateful to have so enthusiastic a friend.  Town, however, does not permit any dogs the freedom to roam the streets untethered.  I think today both of us earned the right to break free of civilization's shackles.

In a rare stroke of luck, I have the car today.  It needed a bit of work done, which was taken care of quickly.  Any time I have the car, Brou and I head to a local park which is a bit too far out of my walking range.  Brou was beside himself with unrestrained puppy glee as I grabbed the leash and asked him, "Wanna go for a ride today, Brou?"

He bolted out the door and headed to the car, ready to rock and roll.  A short drive later, we were strolling down the road that meanders through a most lovely wooded park.  The rain was our ally today, as it deterred nearly every less hardy soul than us from swarming the place.  Only one other person, an older man, and his dog (something in the Setter family, most likely) braved the elements.  We paused while our dogs familiarized themselves with one another.  Neither was leashed, and both were obviously very pleased about it.  We parted company, and Brou just took off in a burst of pure joy down the road.  I must say, there is nothing quite as entertaining as a young dog bounding free through the wet leaves of a country lane, nose to the ground, tail high and wildly swishing to and fro.  I could not help but share his happiness.

After some time on the beaten path, I decided it was time to hit more secluded trails.  I remembered one nearby, and though it took me a couple of times by to find it, I did get us into the woods.  A meandering nature trail with many switchbacks twisting gradually uphill awaited us.  Our months of daily city hikes prepared the two of us for such a grueling march in the rain.  With a deep breath, I plunged into the murky depths of unspoiled woodlands.

It was an eerie, awe-inspiring scene, a journey almost profound.  The darkness caused by this grey day was somehow countered by the glow from the ground, a glow coming from the multitudes of leaves recently felled and soaked.  Far above, the trees closest to the light also glowed against the purple-grey sky.  In between was a layer of darkened gloom just brimming with sprites and nymphs and wee folk of good and bad alliances, of this I was certain, judging from the weird noises and stranger periods of utter silence.  Brou wandered back and forth across the trail and through the woods and round and round me in large, loping circles, nose to the earth as he walked, nose to the air when he stopped.  There was a smell permeating the area-a smell of wood rot, damp, moss, and black, loamy soil.  It was the smell of primeval forests, the smell of ancestral memories.  Brou and I felt it very strongly, and together we picked our way through the strangely decorated swath of woods.

It was an arduous task, one which caused me to shed my jacket, roll my sleeves, and wipe the fog off my glasses and sweat from my brow many times.  But it was so worth the effort.  Sometimes, I would stop to rest and lose myself in my surroundings, mesmerized by the low hanging mist in the trees and the oddly illuminated floor and canopy of the woods.  Sometimes I would get a nostril full of the rampant orange fungi which covered the fallen trees around me.  Brou often disappeared further up the trail, and then showed up behind me somehow.  We made it out just as my legs were about to rebel against me, and came back to asphalt.  I paused to look back, and I swear I heard whispers and faint chimes of delicate laughter.  I thanked the woods for their kindness, for their willingness to show me their secrets.

Brou and I made it to the car, and I spent the next several minutes picking stickleburs from his legs, chest, and belly.  We were both soaked through, both muddy, both tired, but both of us were mighty pleased.  The drive home was uneventful, which was perfect for me as I digested the wonders I witnessed today.

It is now out of my system- the urge to go back to my ancestral way of life.  I am happy to be home, out of the rain and cold.  And Brou?  He is beyond content, knocked out solid on his special blanket on the couch, no traces of the wild, wolfish being he was out in the woods today.  We are primitive, Brou and I, but we also know the joys of civilized living.  It's just that once in a while, we both have to connect with that side of ourselves.

I hope you have an absolutely spectacular day, full of whatever you need to feel peace, contentment, and happiness.