In which I make my way into Crossfire Canyon and meet a wondrous bird.Â I muse upon the experience of eye contact with other species, referencing N. Scott Momaday and Martin Buber.Â I see the light, loose and free in the canyon–it’s beautiful. Part one here, part two here, part three here.
As I worked my way down the trail, I discovered that my right knee was finally healing from a months-long bout with tendonitis and perhaps nerve damage.Â As recently as two weeks earlier I hadn’t been able to raise that leg very high, so I tripped frequently over stones in the trail or fell on my backside on that more difficult-to-negotiate rock outcrop down which I had to lower myself to get where I wanted to go.Â But this time, no trips, no falls.Â Still worried that I was inviting further trouble, I forced myself down the trail. As I walked onto an overlook I frequent to see what’s happening in the canyon below–whether or not cows are lounging on the trail, for instance–something fine happened. Continue reading Death of an old dog, part four, by Patricia