It’s hot over here folks. Not Arizona hot, but hot enough to fry eggs on car hoods and make puppies sleepy. (the last is not a bad thing…)
So when I go for a hike, I go early in the morning. Today, the puppy and I left the house at 7 and got back at 8:30. By the time we got back it was already a lil’ toasty outside.
The hike, though, was beautiful.
When we got to the trail head, we were alone. No cars yet, no voices, no spinning bike tires. Just us and the sunshine and the twittering birds. Our trail bordered a small valley among the foothills of the mountain. Sometimes we walked along a cliff edge, sometimes we strode along the bottom of the valley among grass dried out in the summer sun.
The morning sun bathes the ground in light. As the sun rises, the stark shadows and sunlight make patterns on the ground and rocks. Nooks and crannies stand out on the cliff face, ones hidden in midday and evening. We walk through shadows that haven’t seen the light of day since the sun went down yesterday. The sun gives light, but isn’t scorching yet. At midday, you can feel your skin sizzle in the sun. But not yet.
The trail meanders around boulders, tossed here casually by some catastrophe a millennia ago. My puppy intently sniffs one, the size of a small house. Perhaps it is a house of some kind. An animal escaping the heat. I call the puppy back to me lest we disturb the animal. He bounds over, ears perked and tail wagging. I pet him, and he is off again. He follows scents around boulders and through grass, bounding over bushes in energetic happiness. We spot a rabbit, a rabbit spots us. In a flash, the rabbit bolts for cover, the puppy hot on its heels. The race is over in a second, the rabbit bounding down a hidey hole away from a disappointed puppy.
There are a handful of straggly trees on the trail, all gnarled from the weather and grown into twisty shapes. It fights for water amid the boulders and bushes. The ones who survive here grow roots so deep nothing can rip them up. They outlast drought, flash floods, and windstorms.
As I walk, a sense of knowing steals over me. This is where I belong. Out in the sunshine with dust on my toes. This place, this land, are where my roots have dug in deep. I may leave someday, I may see the whole world. No matter where I go, this is home.
Shaina Merrick
The Beauty of a Story 