Story Time

The old tobacco barn crests the hill like a faded ship riding the swell of a great curling wave of rock. You can easily see the bones of the land here, bursting out of the earth. Sheets of stone were plowed up into slate gray outcroppings by the inexorable movement of glaciers in ancient times. Rocks pop out of the meadows and the forest floor, erupting from the surface like the bits of glass that still come out of the old scar on my forehead. It was all those years ago that I went through the windshield, but every once in a while I still find a sharp little crystal nugget pushing its way out of my body.

Today, when I walk up the hill with the dogs, I see that the rocky outcroppings across from the barn have shaken off two new boulders since the last time I looked. They have rolled down the hill and lie at its foot like something the earth spit out after chewing up and swallowing the rest. The boulders have a texture and a grain to them, like wood, and they flake apart along the wavy curling lines caused by that unrelenting force. There's a lot of mica around here too, and the sun bounces off it. Bright sparkling rays shoot out of the hill between the fiddleheads and grapevines, like power radiating from behind the veil.

The world up here has a fuzzy soft-focus look to it on sunny days in the early spring. The silhouettes of trees are frilled with delicate little curls of leaf, unfolding translucent sensors that glow in the sunlight and throb with life. A flutter of pale feathers passes in a quick sputtering blur. The pussy willows are out, and the earliest ones have already turned into green caterpillar-shaped pods, but the rest are still furry little soft silver buds.

I reach the barn and walk slowly past it, looking up at the huge front doors held shut by handles made of horseshoes welded onto old metal latches. Whistling to the dogs, I turn and walk along the side of the barn next to the stone wall made by our industrious predecessors, who always found something useful to do with what the earth spat out in their day.

The dogs love this wall. It is an exotic world filled with rodents, snakes and bugs and rich black dirt, an entire eco-system. It is mystery, adventure and fulfillment! Their tails curl and wave happily as they work the wall, sniffing and snorting, poking their noses into every nook and cranny. I walk along next to them waiting for the squeals that mean some creature has been found and the chase is on. They rarely catch anything, but the journey is wildly exciting. The journey is everything, in fact. They come back feeling empowered and exhausted, their existence justified according to the canine code of honor by which they live and pant. Now they can throw themselves down on the grass in the sunshine and roll luxuriously, bathing in the sweet smell of light....