tuesday i took the pup and plunged into the near woods. chilly, but not totally debilitating if properly bundled.
it’s not just a pedestrian passing with leaf fodder under foot that i need. i need the slow wheeled roll of entry. i go when the need seems indispersably dispersed. when i am off in my holding capacity and my fragments drift uncontrollably. the roll and gaited passage under thick treed canopy alters me, gathers my fragments for a moment. no. not even that, instead it allows me to let them drift without a regathering compulsion. the roll sooths the drift in the illusion of preparing for purpose. the physicality of the gaited fodder lead meandering always seems so really, so purposeful. it screams quiet whispers that this is exactly where i should be. i relax into it.
so though she is free to frolic, the leash a mere afterthought of forest rule compliance, she pulls it from my shouldered carriage purely to speak. let’s leave now my human, let us venture on. she demands with her leash.
and so i do. for that moment the ungathered fragments hold together in the physicality of the passage. i wonder why i would think to leave, why my detethering holds such sway. my brain plows and mulls the fear that to vacate would just add to my list, would somehow discard a crucial gift. i ponder my untethered pup who so wants to be tethered not with leash but love. each day she asks me incessantly to remind her that we are tether. she demands her tethering. oh. oh. oh. i get it my pack animal pup so human in need.
the sun drops. i recall the practicality of the leave as the air drops from chill to dang cold. i make the brief powered roll to the hermitage and wait for a warmed day. in the skip of a few morns, it has not come yet. but my body is antsy with the need to make.
my materials await me. they beckon. they need. i need. i need the tether that physical making harnesses, holding me in the moment of nowness, just as the foot plod through the forrest does, just as the detethered tethering demands of my dog.
i learn to trust the untethered days. i am compelled to find peace in the making, in the writing, in the mentor ventures until my moments regather a new.
the day warms, the sun penetrates, the crystal icy snow transforms and flows in rivulets. i watch the hermitage weep from my butt plant within and am thankful for the warming. the chainsaw with sharpened blade calls knowing the winters reductions in leaf suspended fodder, biodemassed, appeals to these aging chica muscles.