It’s been a long, hard winter in many ways. I was glad to see sunshine this morning and feel the warmth on my skin after a tearful and triggering evening. Yet I was sluggish and replayed past pain like mournful movies in my head. It was tempting to slide back under the covers and hide from the trauma.
But my faithful companion, my Charlie, sensed my distress and sat with me, eagerly watching my face for signs of panic or dissociation. “He works so hard for me…he ought to have a bit of fun,” I thought.
Charlie immediately sensed something was up, nearly skipping after me in delight as I threw my hair into a ponytail and grabbed my hiking shoes. The adventure was on!
As we entered the state park a short drive from home, Charlie rolled his window down (a trick he’s been quite pleased to discover) and leaned out as far as his tether allowed, sniffing the air. I took a few deep breaths myself and noticed the warm, earthy smells--inadvertently using grounding techniques only recently internalized.
Unencumbered by his service vest, Charlie knew this was a play outing, and I lengthened his leash, allowing him to bound ahead to snuffle through the underbrush and nibble grass. His obvious delight at every little thing made me laugh out loud; how he jumped over fallen logs instead of walking around them, chased grasshoppers, smelled the flowers only to sneeze over the excess pollen.
I began to look at the woods around me from a dog’s eye view. What does it look like if I’m only a foot from the dirt and I’m looking around? Not looking down at the ground, but starting my view from down there, looking around and up. It’s very much the perspective of a toddler; the eyes of innocence. I sat down with Charlie and pondered the new growth around me from his level. White and purple flowers, the colors of spring—not the flowers we import to this area, but the colors that choose to be here—hardiness and fragility held in tension, colors symbolic of purity and royalty. So very appropriate to usher in rebirth and new life.
Yet not all new growth was colorful and lovely at first glance. Fungus was also reappearing along tree trunks and dead wood. Spores which had lain dormant throughout the winter took pleasure in the wet warm days and blew into crevices to renew their masterful purpose in the forest. Certainly, it lacks the obvious glamour of the flowers, but in both form and function it is a marvelous living thing.
Not to be waylaid for long, Charlie pressed our journey to the edge of the water, peering over a slight drop. As a dog quite fond of swimming, I was momentarily concerned he would jump right into the algae-coated water, but he was content to watch a few bugs skitter along the surface before meandering along the path again.
Passing others along the way, Charlie greeted each hiker with gleeful wags and was rewarded with smiles. I love the way he seems to brighten the faces of those he encounters, and I hope to grow more like that. There seems to be a belief in him that every interaction is an opportunity for connection and mutual pleasure. That every moment, every person has a unique quality to give and receive joy. I think I tend to fear moments and people, to believe people have negative intentions towards me because of past trauma and people who have harmed me. Trust is difficult, and anticipating joy seems foreign.
But what if that is what I aim for? It isn’t winter anymore. I walk in spring. The flowers blossom, and the fungus eats away the dead wood to create fertile soil for something new.
I wonder what that newness might be.
