Great day for "dog-writing" today.
We see what we want to see in this world, I suppose, and we make what we want to from that. This is what I saw today and what I made out of it.
I had the day off from work today, so I decided to take the dog through the forest around Clapp's and Duck Ponds since I had the time and it's such a long walk. The weather has turned just enough that one can at least walk into the woods without being assaulted by Green-Heads and horse flies, or battalions of bloodthirsty mosquitos, for the first time in months. It's a long, beautiful, tranquil walk; not unlike a medieval labyrinth in as much as I often feel different, spiritually, when I come out than I did when I went in.
Along the way is a spot I consider special, to say the least, perhaps closer to sacred for lack of a better word. There sits an ancient, gnarled tree, whom I have always perceived to be inhabited by a centuries-old, wise, serene Old Soul, sort of an Old Man of the Forest. Since the first time passing there, I always stop, knock, whisper "hello" as if to an old friend, and sit among his roots for a while to contemplate.
Today, as I walked past, I was sort of distracted, lost in thought, and almost walked right by him until Dooby stopped dead in his tracks, looked at the old tree and wagged his tail, as if to say, "Dad, aren't you going to say hello?" So I stopped, of course, and knocked, and laid my hands upon his ancient branches, and sat for a while to contemplate. As I did, Dooby behaved towards this old tree exactly as he would towards a human friend that he was happy to be seeing: he jumped up for hugs, offered his toy for play and wagged his tail happily. I think that Dooby sees what I see there.
What did I make out of that? I'm not sure exactly, but I walked away from that spot feeling reassured that, for the moment, anyway, I was walking the right path.
We see what we want to see in this world, I suppose, and we make what we want to from that. This is what I saw today and what I made out of it.
I had the day off from work today, so I decided to take the dog through the forest around Clapp's and Duck Ponds since I had the time and it's such a long walk. The weather has turned just enough that one can at least walk into the woods without being assaulted by Green-Heads and horse flies, or battalions of bloodthirsty mosquitos, for the first time in months. It's a long, beautiful, tranquil walk; not unlike a medieval labyrinth in as much as I often feel different, spiritually, when I come out than I did when I went in.
Along the way is a spot I consider special, to say the least, perhaps closer to sacred for lack of a better word. There sits an ancient, gnarled tree, whom I have always perceived to be inhabited by a centuries-old, wise, serene Old Soul, sort of an Old Man of the Forest. Since the first time passing there, I always stop, knock, whisper "hello" as if to an old friend, and sit among his roots for a while to contemplate.
Today, as I walked past, I was sort of distracted, lost in thought, and almost walked right by him until Dooby stopped dead in his tracks, looked at the old tree and wagged his tail, as if to say, "Dad, aren't you going to say hello?" So I stopped, of course, and knocked, and laid my hands upon his ancient branches, and sat for a while to contemplate. As I did, Dooby behaved towards this old tree exactly as he would towards a human friend that he was happy to be seeing: he jumped up for hugs, offered his toy for play and wagged his tail happily. I think that Dooby sees what I see there.
What did I make out of that? I'm not sure exactly, but I walked away from that spot feeling reassured that, for the moment, anyway, I was walking the right path.
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