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One Day More
Another electric color day in these mountains. The month is half over, which means the scenery will soon diminish and dull itself. But for now, it is a boon to the soul. I did a bit of spray painting when I got home this evening. Didn’t seem like that big of a deal. But then I walked into the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. I think I screamed. Cirque du Face. Tragic, tragic times. Did you know that errant spray paint can affect the little hairs inside one’s nostrils? *** When Jinx and I walked this evening, the bats were thick in the air over us, swooping and…
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The Fogs Of August
My mother and grandmother taught me to count the number of foggy mornings during the month of August. The number, they told me gravely, would correspond to the number of snows in the coming winter. I’ve tracked the August fogs more closely since we purchased our little farm here, and while never exact, the ratio of fogs to snows is fairly close. So far this month, we have had nine fogs out of twelve mornings. Last winter was quite mild, and the old-timers in these parts are already beginning to murmur about how “we’re due for a bad, bad winter.” We shall see. I recently re-watched one of my favorite…
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Undertakings
Jinx and I were up before the sun lifted above the fog, and the air was as cool as an August morning’s can be, full of mist and memories and murmurs, and we set out for our stroll. On the way back, the sun pierced the fog and clattered down upon us in arrows and spears, and the birds sensed the change and their cries grew more boisterous and they began to swoop from tree to fence to building to post to rock. The gravel crunched beneath my shoes and a chipmunk scampered across my path, his tail held straight up. Jinx was looking in the other direction and I…
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The Lees Of July
Scuffling down the gravel road, head bowed to the sun-sliver across the ridge as day passes into twilight and draws all the shadows along the grass, I watch Jinx crisscross the road ahead, back and forth. He looks back at me every few moments, then trots on, tail curved over his back, his eyes scanning for something to nuzzle or chase or perhaps nibble. My shoes disturb the dust, and it lifts in small puffs behind me, as if a tiny battery of unseen artillery has a fix on my pos and is about to fire for effect. The dust hangs in the humid air, unwilling to settle back to…
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Purpose
I have watched, and am become as a sparrow all alone on the housetop. — Psalm 102:7 (Douay-Rheims Version) Last night at twilight, a large woodpecker lighted on the utility pole in the back yard. He made a few desultory taps on the treated wood, then scurried to the top and sat there, looking around, his magnificent head a flash of color in the ebbing light of a day that was on the edge of slipping into the past forever. The bird began to sing, the sound an exotic, quasi-tropical series of notes as staccato as the ones his beak made in the weathered fibers of the pole. Ten to…
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A Jinxotic Interlude
Our nearest neighbor recently acquired a puppy who just happens to be about the same age as Jinx. He was supposed to be a basset hound, but turns out that he’s a basset/lab mix, as black as any lump of coal ever mined in these hills, low to the ground, sturdy as a sack of cement, ears down to yar, hilarious gait. He came a’callin’ the other evening, having escaped the confines of his own fenced yard. Jinx and I were sitting outside, enjoying the breeze in the shade, watching the birds. I was half-reading, absently scratching his ears while he sat beside me, leaning against my chair, the one…
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Days Of Fog
When I left the house this morning, my wife was standing at the door and waving, and Jinx was on the porch watching me. The morning was foggy, and the deer were active. One ran across the road in front of me when I was barely out of sight of the house, and between there and my office, I passed at least ten. Sleek, regal, liquid-eyed, and dainty-legged, they each looked at me as I went past them, unaware that I was praying for their safety. Or were they? Who can say? I passed the bicyclist I see most mornings, and I lifted my hand and blessed him and whispered…