But why, then, is the offending pile in the same place every day or night? No, I think that the wayward dog owner is fully cognizant of what his pet is doing.
This bear and her cub have, however, given us a gift. In this time of social distance, our mutual delight in the bears is bringing our neighborhood together.
This is the state we find ourselves in now: a liminal state, where, in the absence of certainty in our present and future lives, we look for what we can count on for stability outside of ourselves.
"I saw Donald Trump on television saying that he wouldn’t wear a mask. Can you believe that guy? He calls himself a leader but we all know that he is a vain, shameful coward.”
-- Murray Chartock
Then we realized that the sound came from below, from the pond, and there they were: hundreds of frogs floating and darting on the surface of the water, croaking their hearts out.
Yet March brings the cruelty of delayed anticipation, of yearning for signs of new beginnings, of suspension between the end of one thing and the beginning of the next.
We haven’t been in the woods for many days, Lily and I. I soon saw the wisdom of that absence in the downed limbs and needled branches littering the fresh snow.
For me, winter in the Berkshires involves quite a bit of curling up on a window seat in my snug den, maybe with a book in hand, my dog lying on my tummy, looking forward to an afternoon nap and an early bedtime.
One afternoon I got off the school bus and my dog was not there. I ran home. My mother, who was no good with dogs and didn’t pay them much mind, had not seen her.
