Pages

Each morning walk awaits us like a book wanting to be read.  The landscape reveals a new cover, hinting at the trek ahead.  We journey onward, silently reading the trail. Yesterday, we followed a couple coyotes who were following several deer.  We don't know the ending--their tracks vanish over a snowbank, leaving us to wonder about their encounter.  Hanging from a tree branch, a small leather bracelet with a shiny silver charm says Peace. I imagine the girl who dropped it (how long ago?) and who hung it there...

We pass no one.  Day breaks.  Bitter cold air reads like shards of glass pages, bound into a tight mass of edges and spine.  A woodpecker drum rolls the silence. Its echo a confirmation--yes, you are welcome here. Mercy is busy reading something I can't detect.  Her nose, buried deep in investigation, works with urgency and speed.  Though I can't see the reason, she is suddenly satisfied and moves on.  I too get lost awhile in my own thoughts and eventually wander back to my feet and the ground beneath them.

We scan these pages every morning and know them well, yet they remain as mysterious as ever. We wind through the woods, watching sunlight's arrival on the ground as if it had never been there before. Mercy takes great joy in running ahead and racing back, again and again and again.  Her enthusiasm turns to contentment as we round the familiar bend towards the road. We are small and safe in this forest, dwarfed by its magnitude and protected by its benevolence. We leave the woods for another day, anticipating the next chapter and all it will tell.