Posted on by Mike Firesmith

Dawn in October

Budlore Amadeus wanted to walk in the woods this morning, with just enough light to see, and because the weather is cool, I’m ready. Bud runs ahead, dips into the bushes like a bird diving for a fish, and then back on the trail again. I haven’t dragged the hurricane debris out, and perhaps won’t. What falls on the ground becomes part of the ground, having once been a part of the sky. Some trees shed big limbs, and others dropped smaller offerings.

The storm killed three trees. Two red maples broke, one in half and the other with a twisted break, and one water oak broke in half. They will return to the earth where they landed.

We walk around the area, still flooded from all the rain that’s fallen in the last two months, and Bud spooks a rabbit into fleeing. I see the white flash of the tail; Bud leaps after the bunny and then stops. It’s a sign of aging, for a much younger Bud would have pursued this prey. Bud’s muzzle is greying, his run not as swift, and his will to hunt diminished. Of all injustices on earth, losing Lucas before he had a chance to age, to grow old with me, to be the dog I would retire with, is a sharp one. Lucas and Lilith should have had the chance to be together for many years instead of just five.

The sun rises above the horizon now, and the light is clear, the shadows retreating. Bud snuffles a bush, then looks up at me, wondering which direction I will take. Like so many dogs before him, Budlore wants not to be in the woods but wants to be in the woods with me. I walk the edge of the flooded firepit and see ripples as frogs flee. Bud ignores the water, and I remember dogs who would have gone in no matter the temperature.

We return, the sun clear in the sky, its track more and more southernly as Solstice draws nearer, and Bud races to the house as if I might give chase.

Ever it may bring, I have the dogs that I have, and those I have lost are gone. These too, will go, and others will arrive in due time. Then one day, I will leave, just as all the dogs have, and someone else will walk the trail in the woods with dogs, looking at the sun and seeing seasons and light change.

Take Care,

Mike

Posted on by Mike Firesmith

Of The Sun

Somewhere, in a past so distant that the human brain cannot comprehend the matter, some tiny and insignificant organism was exposed by the tide, yet survived, for being a tidal creature, it could more handle a drier environment. It needed moisture, and when the tide returned again, it was saved from desiccation. Over millions of years, the descendants of the tiny would-be land creature grew more and more tolerant of being away from the sea, and plants were born.

The sun knew nothing of this, knowing nothing of something so tiny as the earth, so far away that its gravitational pull would capture it, but not be affected in any great way. The sun spun on  away to wherever it would be guided, the earth spun around the sun, millions and millions and millions of trips around and around. Billions of creatures lived and died, dinosaurs rose and fell, species evolved or went extinct, and finally, in a space of time so incredibly tiny, so minute as to not be noticed by anything capable of notice, I arrived, and you did, too.

Here are some photos of the nearest star, captured in a moment, the descendants of the first land plant growing around us. To me, and perhaps to you too, the Live Oaks are giants, and perhaps, to them, we are but flashes of life, brief, dangerous, yet temporary.

The morning starts cold, the sun trekking Her way towards the north now, longer days, yet not warmer, not yet. The light slashes through the darkness, feeding the trees, giving heat to the earth, brightening the sky, and I am there to see this, as I am wont to do, very early to greet the sun.

In some way, every living creature is kin to all others, to the first, to the last, to all who were and all who are, and all who will be. The sun spins, spiraling to a tune that lives inside us, too, as we make our way to wherever it is we go.

I greet the sun early, as I am wont to do. The light of the day begins like a liquid, flowing into the spaces it can, then overflowing to the rest of the earth, and into the sky. I greet you too, fellow beings, kin of the first creatures, survivors of your spins around the star nearest to us all.

Enjoy your day, of light and warmth if you have it, and if you do not, may the next spin of the earth, bring you a moment in the sun.

Take Care,

Mike