sumac

my heart is still racing, having just had a big scare. carver and i had just returned from a good walk, to the wild flower meadow and back. carver was in good spirits, and full of energy, his digestion just returning to normal after a few days of being sick. the field is dotted with sumac, long feather branches glowing crimson in the gray light. the tall grass has been battered down in spots, in every direction, looking like churned up water. I sat on the porch smoking when we got back, carver laying on the door mat, barking at every passer by. we came in, my voice light with the promise of supper, when carver, hopping at the anticipation of food, slid on an patch of wood floor, twisting his remaining front foot. he went down to the floor with a high pitched cry, one I have not heard since he was a pup and lost a foot down into a large holed drainage grate in a stretch of tall grass. I helped him up, my arms around his belly, trying to get him over to his bed, two footed, him not wanting to put any pressure on the remaining. I stroked his leg gently, feeling for breaks, bending his ankle a centimeter to the left, then up, the the right and back. in a moment he leaped up to eat the food in his bowl, then over to get a drink of water, then back to his bed. he is till laying here panting, myself the human equivalent. how precious that leg is, how fragile, and important. life sustaining. over the months I have stopped the steady stream of nightmarish scenarios that could equal carver's end. but here we are. we need that leg. he cant survive without it. I will give carver pain killers and keep him quiet for the next couple of days-no more walks until I am sure he has healed. I cant help but dwell on how just a few moments ago all that was on my mind was the sumac, how many colors of red it turned, and whether or not they began dark then lightened, or the other way around.

wards

carver and I walked down to ward's pond this morning. the heat of the past couple months has kept us much closer to home, so it had been a long while. I had not set out for ward's, having accepted some time ago that carver could not manage the long walk. but as we skirted the edge of the wildflower field, touching the edge of the path that led down into the dark woods, I decided to enter. it was a cool morning, gray, the paths smelling rich with decaying leaves. rabbits ran past, and squirrels could be seen by the handful. dozens of blackbirds were tucked in the piles of leaves, the leaves rolling like a pot of boiling water. the sumac that stretches out over the pond gleamed bright crimson. the lily pads have disintergrated in their place, leaving a shadowy gray pattern on the surface of the water. carver walked all the way to the pond without stopping to rest, stepped into the water ankle deep, and began to drink. we climbed up the hill slowly, and I suddenly felt as if my father were walking along beside us. the walk reminded me of so many similar walks i took with my dad as a child. me, lost in my senses, eyes to the ground searching for treasure, he lost in thought, but still with me, neither of us talking. a peaceful silence, a sanctuary, where living meant taking one step, and then another, nothing to do, or to figure out, or to plan. carver was the child now, even in his old age, taking in every scent, every texture and sound. and even though my thoughts would wander, I was with him, taking in all that was around us, and him, the wonder of him and the gift of the morning. I feel like carver and I both got to expereince a piece of ourselves that has been missing for awhile, our best selves, the parts of us that are as wild and curious as the rabbits, as close to the earth as the decaying leaves.