It had been a slow day, neither good or bad, just there, rainy.
Moby, our little happy dog, loves to walk, so I buckled him in and there we went. Watching him makes me want to break out in song, Zippity do dah, Zippity day. He is so oblivious to his own might at 80 pounds and so enthusiastic, as measured my the speed and rhythm of his tail.
Rain in spring is marvelous…the greens and white apple tree blooms scream life through the grey monochrome and as we reached the bottom of the trail, my friend and I, and turned north to go home, we veered off to visit the beaver pond.
In the drenched grey, the wood ducks heard us and flew off. I looked around for other signs of life…could it be? I thought, as I saw a head across the way…a beaver?
It was not one beaver but 4….4 heads swimming…I braced, would Moby see?
No, he continued sniffing and I continued watching, hoping they wouldn’t cross over to our side.
As they came around the curve of the pond I whistled, either my whistle or their directive turned them around. I watched as they approached the embankment that leads to a second pond below.
The beavers emerged up onto the land, one by one they paired up.Their long swimming tails appearing like magic from the dark water:two beavers in front, two in back. They proceeded, their backs to me, over their beaver-made dike, like some soldiers on a mission.
Their reality so concrete in the same burst of time as mine…
so unaware of some forces far greater that
could simply bulldoze their world down.