Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, our family’s mixed Lab.
Sometimes a Ramble is not about mulling the big things, say Life and Death, but rather considering the small mysteries.
Take this morning.
I had to check the ice on the north old clay pit. It looked too sloppy–safe, but sloppy–for me to walk on. But there was the set of tracks above leading out to the middle of the pit.
At first I thought it was somebody over the weekend who waded through the slop to ice fish.
But then I got to thinking and wondered if they might have been old tracks in the snow before the meltdown, and simply melted into a memory.
I like that phrase, melted into a memory.
Not sure how you would make that determination.
And there was a pair of good ice-fishing gloves on the ground above the trail leading out. I picked them up and hung them in the crotch of a small tree. The gloves were good enough I would have come back to look for them.
But maybe they were dropped during the snowstorm a week ago and were under the snow until the meltdown.
I find it so amazing that this morning was almost 50 degrees warmer than the insane cold of a week ago Monday when i could hardly breath on a short ramble of a couple blocks.
Each ramble comes with its own personality.
No squirrels, no doves and no sound of Canada geese on the lake to the west (though I know some are there) anywhere this morning.
Another small mystery, one I can’t explain.
