Walking season

The sun looked warm.
When I opened the doors for the animals to go out and in, one at a time and at different doors each time, the air felt mild despite the wind.


I wrapped a scarf around my head and invited the dogs out with me. MiMau kitty came along.
We went a long way, all the way down to the fifth field where the view across the valley is wide and long.
The wild grapevine-and-bramble tangle has blown over there at the top of the fifth field, where the wind and weight of the snow has pushed it down. I believe it's the first time I have ever clearly seen the old stone wall there.


The fifteen-year-old poodles gamboled like puppies, stopping for long investigations where mice and rabbits have hunkered down during the long winter. I waited for the dogs to look up again before I went on; they lose me and head straight back to the house if I'm out of sight. MiMau and I kept a sedate pace, she fluffed up with the excitement of being out in the wide open, I grateful for her company and using her as my excuse to go slowly.


We regrouped and walked along the hedgerow. MiMau padded over crackling dead leaves near the wall. If it weren't for her white lips she would be completely invisible in that gray-brown tangle. 


By the time we were back in sight of the house, my scarf had blown down around my neck and my ears ached. The dogs were waiting way up by the house, and came running . . . running! to meet me and escort me back inside.


And so the Walking Season begins.