Tuesday, December 31, 2013
We take a last look out the narthex window at the hills and stones, and leave this little church. For now.
Chet checks for spirits in the basement. His shaved patches from the dogbites clearly will remain until the big spring shed. Oh well. Neither of us are perfect any more, if ever we were.
We'll come back several times this winter. And I want to see it in springtime and summer, too.
The turning of the seasons transforms it all. There is always so much to see.
By the time we start for home it's snowing pretty good, and the wind is in our faces. Ugh. If there's wind, it seems always to be in our faces.
We get to a dangerous curve that I hate, because cars are always whipping around it and there's no shoulder. As if reading my mind, Chet bounds up the bank to the pasture and rounds the curve in safety on its top. He rejoins me on the straightaway. Good doggie!!
We go up a side lane and perch atop some hayrolls for a different perspective.
Here, I get one of my favorite shots of the winter, a Grandma Moses background with a shivering Boston terrier in the foreground, a few sumac fruit clusters beckoning from stage right. We embrace the season.
But one of us has a warm Dogburger on his mind, and he cracks the whip to get us home.
Fergus' pond isn't frozen yet, but it will be soon.
The red tower of our house sticks up through the trees, a beacon. But it's still a long ways off.
The little bare pine branch on the left hand tree points right to it.
I like being able to see where I'm headed. I can do that on my runs, at least. Not so much in life any more.
By the time we make our driveway, Chet's just a determined black dot in the distance. He gets a bit fed up with my lollygagging and philosophizing when there's snow in his face. I am thankful that he'll come with me at all on such days. He only puts his paw down at cold rain, and more and more, so do I.
We get home, all rosy and fogged up and freezing. I don't realize until Bill points it out that I'm graying. He snaps a shot, I shake like a dog and call it a run.