The morning is cloaked in a low mist as winter freeze gives way to early springtime sun
electricity crackles and hums above
fizzing through thick wire
reaching out for miles ahead and behind
moving power to the homes of the city to our north
charging mass awaking’s
our awakening is charged by a different force
and atmospheric mingling
we turn a corner on the boardwalk towards the river’s edge
to meet the fixed stare of a muntjac deer
startled it momentarily freezes
no more than two meters away it’s bronze fur of its snout almost perfectly defined by parallel black lines which dew me to the deep black eyes looking directly into mine
then as quickly as it had arrived it turned and bounced into the undergrowth
my companion ambled behind
oblivious to our encounter
although I think he was perhaps aware of the beast long before I but took it to be a regular encounter and nothing out of the ordinary
he smells, sees, and senses the deer everywhere
through their tracks,
their scent
as the landscape is revealed to him
in ways it will never be to me
he knows this landscape far better than I ever can
I’m hungry, rested from a good night’s sleep, and need to pee
reliant as I am on others to open doors and provide my food
I make a muffled sound, half whimper
half muted bark to alert the others to my needs
conscious of the early hour as the world slowly awakes from slumber
in constant movement
towards a new becoming
Late afternoon in November
the missing link in the year with the meadows
the sun is low
the sky is clear
and it is wet underfoot following a few days of rain
not wet in the usual flooded sense
still passable with care, with the right footwear of course
it is surprisingly warm
the slight mist of evaporation
the river is in full flow
heading north as we head south
in harmony
not in opposition
the marshes have been replenished following a dry summer
the leaves are turning russet
brown
red
and gold
yet there remains a surprising amount of lush dark green vegetation
punctuated by the last remaining wildflowers of the summer
water on ground reflects the sun and the sky creating the illusion that the horizon has been abolished and the ground and sky are one
no up nor down, no land nor sky
we pick our way along familiar tracks
through gaps in hedges
up into the woods, my companion forging ahead
his movements are poetic
balletic
as I pause
scanning for the path through the woods
a vague memory of its trajectory made foggy by leaf fall obscuring the track
he sweeps past in an arc
jumping a felled branch
immediately switching back and jumping again
as if to capture the sheer joy of being in that moment airborne
he stops about 20 feet ahead
looks back
does his playful four-legged stamp
tail raised
head down
beckoning me to join in this chase through the woods and forging his own path for me to follow
he draws a line with his body
poised and athletic
weaving through trees up to a path beyond a path
sweeping round to the open field where he meets another much smaller dog
and they engage in a playful chase
sometimes stumbling
obviously the older of the two
I worry that such playful energetic adventures may be numbered as time collapses
and 12 months of walking the meadows become a singularity
one event constructed of many moments and memories
condensed in a single moment
A hot August afternoon
first match of the season
ducks float by in slow motion
under the bridge that marks the gateway to the edge-land
echoes of others
on foot and wing
follow the river
leaving the city behind us
its echoes never quite lost
merging into the wild
on the cusp of becoming
becoming other
becoming animal
They visit us often
we sense them coming
we welcome them
we engulf them
the four legged one meets us as one of our own
a long-lost soul wrapped in in a muscular body
a body without organs
he sniffs us
draws us in
to become with us
he rolls in our tendrils
he reaches out as we reach him as we embrace
the two legged one walks with his head in the clouds
he has much to learn
I want to wallow in the soil
roll on my back
teste the air
burrow in the earth
eat the grass
absorb
and digest the pollen on the air
mingle with smells of others who have been and those yet to come
I sense the potentiality of this landscape
open
dynamic
and alive
I could walk for miles
get lost without fear
unearth something new
create something new with every step
absorb
digest
and consume the knowledge of the landscape as it unfolds beneath my paws
I make knowledge from the mud
from the earth as I snuffle and snort its microbes
its dust, its traces
and its potential
I want to get muddy
dirty
dig and dig and dig
explore the subsoil and its memories
breath it in
eat and consume its earthy taste
play with it, ingest it
It is not enough that the mud remains as a surface
as exterior
I must make it part of me
I must become part of it as I inevitably one day will become soil
I ingest the once was fellow travellers
their smells
their rotting flesh
their bodies without organs