Just the three of us (and the dog).

There are just the three of us, plus the dog, like a small tribe of hooligans trying figure out how to navigate in a sea of larger groups.  We are a bit wild, a bit off-kilter, and not in a sweet storybook way, but in a real misfit kind of discomfort.  But it's alright because when we are able to shed the troubles and set out without a bit, we have, I think, more fun than most people have on average.  We are savages and freaks sniffing out the wildlife and tasting the tang of frost like it's a second skin we are ready to zip up over our summer skins.  We fit together even though we drive each other crazy. 

The dog is our herder, our safeguard, our patrol, and our nuisance.  Talk of our love of her easily leads to talk about how much we love our cats which leads to talk of Ozark.  Always of Ozark because he was the handsomest grouchiest orange tabby that only people like us could love and cherish.  We talk of the dead as though they still mean something.  With sorrow, yet also with acceptance. 

We smile titanic when we find ice in the road, picking up shards of it to examine in the pale winter light of afternoon - a thin affair.  We uncover pockets of frost as though it was gold and we let our fingers numb with it and we photograph it and try not to leave any leaves out who are particularly spectacular with ice crystals. 

We walk through stands of birch trees, stripped, pale, and somehow in spite of our loud ways, our carrying voices, we are quieter while we pass through them.   

The three of us see the microcosms spreading out underneath the big life.  We see the diminutive mushrooms so tiny and fragile that Chick can crush them with her breath alone.  We are reverent for these signs of other life outside ourselves like some people are reverent for the word of God.  This is our word.

The paths are steep where we climbed and the falls roared through the branches like the inevitable rush of each day through our heads, only calmer and more simple.  Like songs we don't remember the words to but we find ourselves singing to anyway.

Together we examine the crossroads between man and the nature we all came from.  We see the bullet dents in city signs and speculate about the people who put them there.  This is where we see our place and understand ourselves a little better.

We help each other notice the details.  Chick herds us along to be sure none of us get lost and when we're together out here, with her, it all feels alright.  There is nothing to frighten us or threaten us that we can't deal with.  We don't have eyes for fairies or goblins, just the infinite question mark in front of us. 


Looking up we could see the drapes of moss and lichen trailing off of branches far above us and we became so small.  So insignificant.  For us this is leveling and comforting.  There is less gravity in being small than in being big.