The rains have passed and the dogs and I are setting out for a walk along a path which will be peppered with piñon and juniper trees. Once this was the land of towering ponderosa pines and tall grasses, until the white man leveled the trees and turned his cattle and sheep loose to graze. Millions of years before that, this was a vast savannah where dinosaurs roamed. I sometimes wonder if their spirits are still here, bearing silent witness to the endless flow of change. If so, they will make themselves known to Spooky, my alpha spirit dog, who, as always, is in the lead.
I move with Terry, Sheba, and the rest of the pack, and the sun is part of me. When the dogs are at my side I am more alert to the world around me. I take notice of a spring blossom that has come out overnight, and I imagine the snows from the higher mountains melting to create the stream that runs alongside us. I lie face-down in the stream with my clothes on, remembering that this water purifies itself every hundred yards. The dogs stand quietly watching me. I am part of their pack yet their leader. They don’t wade in splashing or barking or shaking themselves in delight. It’s as if they know I don’t want the water muddied, that I am savoring its purity. I’m different from them yet one of them.
It’s difficult to explain the freedom I feel as I drink the icy water flowing under my nose and mouth. I am primitive, availing myself of the sacred gifts of nature.