Sunday, March 9, 2014
(Continued from page 1)
It was a vocabulary the dog did not understand, and I found myself reining her in, time after time, as she leapt, literally, to the conclusion that invaders were upon us and raised a roar of barking and scrambling toward the door. But it was just nature adjusting the formula of temperature and precipitation, a feeling of warmth or maybe weeping, and by day's end, the dog -- quick to fit into the dominant order of things -- had settled down and rediscovered her sense of safety in sleep. Snoring, she breathed in and out, loudly, the imagined adventures of the night, her paws twitching and little whimpers rising from her throat as she gave chase in fields of dream.
This is how the storm moves over the lives of little creatures -- a woman and a dog, for example -- the wind issuing its own orders, nature unfolding, creating its own chain of being -- sometimes ephemeral, sometimes lasting, ever changing. If it seems difficult for a time -- the work of getting around and through the landscape reconfigured by snow and ice and an occasional mistaken fear -- hold on. Even the harshest weather moves on, the night lightens and another day begins.
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