Post
by sasha » November 9th, 2019, 12:57 pm
I open the front door where snow frantically pours down from above, obscuring the background trees like a dense fog, and hissing as it hits the frozen, brittle leaves that carpet the ground. The ground itself is not yet frozen so there is no accumulation; but each tiny particle of ice melted by the earth's residual heat carries off a bit of thermal energy; and enough of them will, before too long, deplete that energy, and render the soil cold and hard and hospitable for those bits of ice that follow.
But a glance upward informs me that this is just a passing squall - I can see several patches of blue overhead, smudged with gray around the edges where the storm cloud ends. I round up the dog, who's been reveling in this near-forgotten experience, and open the car door for him. He jumps into the back, and whines with excitement as I climb in, shut the door, and start the engine.
It's only a mile to the trailhead, but we've passed out of the squall even before reaching the bottom of the hill. By the time we've reached the iron gate, a wan sun low in the sky casts long shadows across the old railroad grade. We disembark, I leash up the dog, and we set out along the great arcing curve where the rail bed veers from due south to southeast. Once I can see far enough ahead to assure myself we're alone, I release him, and he celebrates by charging ahead as fast as his four legs will carry him. A few hundred feet ahead he stops and looks back to assure himself I'm still coming. I call him a good dog, and he resumes his southeasterly dash.
It's only 3:45, but the sun is so near the horizon that even the few trailside laurel stands I pass block it from view entirely. It isn't particularly cold - maybe 25 F (-4 C) - but if feels colder because I'm not used to it yet, and I'm glad for the fleece I'm wearing under my heavy coat. The vanishing sun peers from between the trunks of naked trees, illuminating at ground level the woods to my left, and paints the nearby squall clouds a delicate salmon pink. I stop to admire the sky overhead - it's a Maxfield Parrish kind of sky, a magical late-afternoon sky of pink and blue and gold, overlooking a landscape peopled with fantastic mythological beings - dyads and dryads and nyads; satyrs, centaurs and pegasi - and one aging hiker with an energetic young dog. My breath issues visibly from my mouth, my eyes weep freely from the cold, my fingers are already chilled despite the gloves - but my feet are warm, my breathing steady, my freely roaming dog is familiar enough with the routine to stay in sight - and I am happy. I am alive. I have survived the first assault Time has launched against my mortality, and even though I'm well aware that I will eventually succumb, here, in this place, at this moment, I still live - I still perceive, I still comprehend, I still wonder - and I smile at my good fortune to be here, now, panting, erect, mobile, mostly functional. I am blessed. I have delayed entropy for another day. I shall exist for a little while longer.
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710