After a long day at the end of a strange week, I took a long walk without anybody today. The dogs found it a tad too chilly to go far with me, so I made my way on my own. My efforts through the wind and cold paid off. When I got to the pond, there were three beavers that I could see working hard to slow the flow of the run-off and rain and snow of this week. When they saw me, they slapped the pond with their tails, dove in, and emerged some place closer to the edge of the water than they had been. I watched them swim until I realized that I was the reason they couldn't get the work done. The beavers were big and fat and totally in possession of the pond. They had attitude, and I loved them for it. They were so big and so fat that they made me think of their progenitor from the pond from seven years ago, a mammoth marvel of beaverness who, I have to believe, was the god or goddess of all things dammed. That amazing individual met the end of her life in the middle
Showing posts from February, 2016
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Like shark-eye snail shells, sand dollars that are perfect seem all but impossible to find. They are so delicate, it is hard for me to imagine how they come into being in the first place. But they do, and their remains are easy to spot along the edge of the water. I have tried to arrange the pieces of different broken sand dollars into the shape of one whole one, and the task seems almost possible because they break along similar lines. There's a point in there somewhere. The more I think about it though, the more I think that perfection--the completeness that comes from being there--comes with the sun that rises on all these fragments.