Walking The Dark

I am remembering the joy of the dark. How the world narrows to wind and rain and footsteps on rock. How the rest of the world isn’t here, is caught behind the yellow light of windows, in front of the blue light of televisions and the white light of this. How there is always enough light if you are patient and present.

It is a treasure to have a trail, a forest, a mountain be only yours for this time. To have a good dog sprint with the sheer joy of being a free dog, and to have him come back to you again and again for no reason other than joy of being here with you. To be soaked and cold and a little miserable, and then to be soaked and warmed by a few miles, and quieted.

It is a treasured thing.