Booker pounces, stuffs his face into tufts of gold and brown grasses, and waggles his butt in the air. I wait in respect, for a mouse may have met its judgement day. Itâ€™s hard to tell because Booker quickly loses interest and moves on.
Up ahead the chocolate Labrador named Bob waits to snarl and growl and bristle as we walk by his driveway. Bob has an invisible fence to contend with, but he stays ever hopeful he can break through and attack. I tell Booker not to provoke Bob, but of course he does anyway. Itâ€™s hard not to smile as Bob willingly electrocutes himself repeatedly to show his hostility. I wish I had that kind of hardcore conviction in my attitude.
We wander further and I finally notice the sky, the way the trees have but a few tenacious colored leaves remaining to offer modesty. Fall is definitely flirting with winters early charms.
There are lonely birds now–singles instead of flocks–and their songs have been replaced by the odd melody the wind makes as it races through empty branches and withered weeds.
The herd of Jersey cows that devoured the rented pasture over the summer months are gone now too, but Booker peers over the embankment and pokes his head through the barbwire fence just to make sure. Nope. No cows.
It occurs to me that I have a wealth of peaceful thoughts as I walk this stretch of road. The familiarity of the outdoor space allows my mind to flow unheeded by walls and chores and technical tyrants. And, although it is a familiar bit of nature, it changes constantly. I feel like Iâ€™m part of something raw and intrinsic, and it is the best part of my day.