Today I tumbled straight from one job into the next, with only the briefest of pauses for a quick scrambled-egg supper. I stayed typing in my chair while Patrick put each of the kids to bed, filling his evening with pyjamas and cozes and bedtime stories while I listened to councilors debate. So when Eevee stretched out her long paws and put them on the door with a wheedly little whine I said yes, and put my work on hold.
We stepped outside into that backwards time of night that feels dark when you're inside, but light when you're outside. The sky still held a bit of light and it was not too dark, yet, to follow my dog down a woodsy path. Fireflies twinkled madly, and I laughed to myself as I remembered the first time Pascal saw them alight in a field. (He watched the lights appear and disappear, glowing here and glowing there. He clung to my neck for a while, and then asked, in a voice absolutely shattered with shock, how they could teleport.)
Eevee's nose was keeping her busy, whooshing into bushes and snapping into pointer pose, and bats swooped and flapped overhead. Out in the river, a beaver's head appeared and then slipped back down underwater. A frog leaped, plooping into the water. Squirrels chased each other through the trees, and, according to Eevee's constant alerts, bunnies were lurking in almost every shadow.
The world aches and horrifies me far too often.
The news is harsh and people are harsher.
But every now and then, taking a walk can feel like velvet. The evening air tastes sweet, and something flits and flashes through the trees. And every twist of the path is magic.
xo.
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