verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

River Birch

I didn't feel like writing these last couple of months, and so I didn't.  I loved letting it go even though I did miss it.  Over the summer I made hundreds of mental notes of dog moments and landscape moments to write down...and then I'd let them go. I enjoyed doing that. It was enough to simply notice things.  I knew I'd come back here though I wasn't sure when or why or what might spark it (or if I even should) and that was ok.

The other day when I was playing with Otis his ball rolled under an amazing tree. As I stood under its leaves I was quickly taken by the orangey-golden glow of the trunk and the filtered sun beams coming through its branches. The papery ruffled gown that formed the trunk was so magnificent that I nearly thanked it out loud for its beauty and jubilance.  If trees have personalities (I tell myself they do), then this one was as friendly as it was whimsical.  We circled the tree many times, admiring its way of being--both playful and profound.  We then quietly resumed our game, as if all this had been just another ordinary moment.

I simply had to tell you about it.