How lucky are we?

How lucky are we?

It rained overnight. The slightly open bedroom window allows for just enough sound volume to not unsettle the dog. The sounds of rain make for extra coziness in that early morning darkness when the covers feel softest and warm enough to make you already long for next night’s sleep.

We wake up with darkness still clinging, and that’s just right for a cup of coffee and reading. The pup settles on her blanket on the couch for a belly-up snooze. Her soft breathing reminds me of the boys being little and abandoning themselves to deep peaceful sleeps, knowing they are safe and loved.

We finally head out for the morning hike with a cold sharp wind curling around our ankles like a relentless cat with nothing else to do. The city seems deserted, and that’s a Sunday morning for you. The rain freshened everything up and built smell castles for the pup’s nose to play with. We stop every five steps, she sniffs, and we move on. And again, and again, until we enter the trails.

It’s a bit muddy and puddly, and the wind whooshes through the yellow grasses, whipping them against our legs. It smells of rain and fall and the clouds hang heavy. The pup smells deer tracks half filled with rain, she sneezes and then rushes to chase these tiny birds that always tease her as they fly from one disrobed saskatoon bush to another.

We walk across the creek and follow the narrow steep trail lined by thick moss on one side and opening to the gaping canyon on the other. There is a place, the same every time where we stop, crouch and watch. A few minutes of just observing. The pup has taught me this. She has her favourite spots, now ours. If we happen to have other humans along for the hike, it’s rare that they sit and soak the place the way our pup does. They get restless and look at me funny when I say I let the pup indulge… Backwards, I know. So much to learn from those among us whose words are made of gazes and deep sighs.

We follow the trail, and I duck as we pass under ponderosa branches with their long needles dripping from last night’s rain. Behind us, the winds have peeled the clouds to reveal a soul-feeding baby blue that leaves me breathless. I walk backwards so I don’t miss any of it. How can this just be and how many see and wonder about the chance of it all happening so suddenly?

The pup stops to listen, and I oblige. I stop and listen too, and she approves. The subtlety of it is humbling. A quick glance punctuates the unison we find ourselves in once again. Me, grateful for the safety she affords me with all her senses perked up as we trot through the woods, and her, pleased to feel me fully present.

Then comes the gift: the sun bursts from behind the hills through the pines, and the millions of raindrops hanging on the tips of needles and grasses sparkle like diamonds. The forest is transformed and so are we.

We hear a coyote barking in the distance. The echo clings to the air, belonging to the forest and this morning as much as raindrops do. The path leads us to an open slope, and we get to see the city and distant grasslands drenched in sunshine. We stop again, crouch next to each other and observe it all for a while. How lucky are we to see it and breathe in it? This morning, clouds rolling like tumbleweed on the baby blue sky, the forest noises and colors, near and far.

The wind picks up from behind the hill, whistling through the pines, making them sway. The songs of the forest cannot drown the hum of city life unfolding below us, but the feeling of being in another world is distinct and familiar. This is the place where we rarely see people. We see animal tracks, bear and coyote scat, and all those little things that are so easy to miss when you move too fast through this space, or too removed from its foresty breath. May we never hurry… even when we pick up the pace, chased by rain or as other days would have it, coyotes feasting and getting annoyed with our sudden presence. Yes, it happened. May we always take none of it for granted.

Because you see, the question remains: how lucky are we? Very. I’d say the luckiest, but as we make our way back, I watch two eagles gliding above, tracing circles for no one and everyone. They are the luckiest, and know it too.