I followed a game trail into the hills of juniper and jack pine. The decision to follow the trail proved a good one. Produced almost entirely by deer, the trail charted the gentlest route through the glacially carved swells of earth and stone. I thought about my age as I walked. As defined by the number, I am what children have long defined as old. My face and hands wear the permanent scars of time. But I am upright and that is good enough for a walk in the hills.
After a time, I encountered a single chickadee. The
bird alighted on a juniper not much more than an arm’s reach from me.
“I am happy to meet you,” I told the bird. “You are
welcome to follow me along if you wish. But I must warn you, I am particularly
self-absorbed today, and the deer are unwittingly guiding me.”
That said, the chickadee abandoned me with a
half-dozen quick wing-beats. I walked on, taking the easy way as defined by
deer.
—Mitchell Hegman
No comments:
Post a Comment