Morning re-discovered

Early winter morning. Cheyenne spins circles at my feet, and I have to hold her to put on the collar and leash. We set out into the dawn. She doesn't know it but today is the day we return to the path along Buffalo bayou where she can run down the hill and along the path, unleashed and out of control. We have not been there in too long a time but she's strong enough now for the distance.

Outside, it's as quiet as an untold secret, and the near-dark hour is gaining light slightly, slowly. The morning dew is fresh and heavy on the grass and above us on the wires, the twittering birds. We weave through the neighborhood and I watch and listen, absorb. Color is everywhere. The sky a whitish blue, a pale gold sunlight highlighting the damp tree branches. The fallen leaves of brown and fading yellow. The paperwhite bulbs have broken through the ground, some blooming, some still reaching. The neighbor's nightblooming jasmine fills the air with a sweet smell that Cheyenne's twitching nose says even she seems to notice.

When we reach Shepherd, she clues in on her return. Practically dragging me to Memorial and across the wide street, she suddenly has the strength of a sled dog. At the top of the hill, I remove her leash and she tears downhill in an all-over wiggling joy that is her own, except for mine to witness.




Seasons have passed since we've been here. I've missed being near the changing but relish in being here now, in seeing the bare branches and the broad view they allow of the length of Buffalo Bayou and in the distance, downtown. In contrast, the River Oaks and Live Oaks are full and green and steadily familiar.

The rising sun makes our shadows stretch long across the path and hill. I stop for a moment, look at my dog, look at the trees, and smile. I feel tremendous joy and peace of mind in discovering this again, this beauty which has called me and quietly waited for our return.