2004-04-19 - 3:57 p.m.
You get up early and the world is still shrouded in mist. It’s so quiet you can hear the silence, and then in the distance you hear whoosh whoosh whoosh and look up to see something big coming from the tops of the locusts at the north edge of the field. Because your perception is confounded by distance you think crow, then, no, bigger than a crow—a raven perhaps, then realize it is bigger still even than that. You then realize you are watching a turkey, no two, no actually three as yet another one trailing the first two heads in a shallowly descending angle towards the pines rimming the far opposite edge of the field.
Beau kicks one of them up again during an excursion into the periphery of the apple orchard where the ravines meet and define the northeast corner of the next field. Startled, he runs after it in that slightly hesitant way that suggests he is not entirely sure he wants to catch it, before breaking off the chase when the turkey glides over the next ridge. Chance stays beside me the whole time, while Beau continues sniffing and searching, alternately wandering into the woods and back to the field to make sure we are still with him..
There are dogwoods and wild apple trees all along the old fencelines, and I think how beautiful they will be in another few weeks when in full bloom. But right now the fields and the woods are still looking pretty much lifeless and brown. The exception is moss, patches of it awakening in the woods, all a fresh green and slightly phosphorescent; especially when the morning light hits it just right, it fairly glows.
Coming home, walking the familiar path of an old logging trail, we disturb a ruffed grouse that has stayed the night in the hollowed base of a tree. It flushes at my feet and the dogs, having passed it unaware, turn around just in time to watch it fly away through the trees. I call to them, “Where’s the bird? Where’s the bird?” and see the influence of one who no longer leads them as they come zigzagging back to me, sniffing the ground.
