Maine Metaphor: Experience in the Western Mountains by Dorman S.;

Author:Dorman, S.; [Dorman, S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781498233774
Publisher: Wipf and Stock Publishers
Published: 2015-10-21T07:00:00+00:00

Ages of Dogs, Trees, Men

Grab my notebook, leave the house, head up the road. A trip to Swans Ledge, as the season winds down. I want to take in the view of ponds and finish my blackberry entries from a seat on the rock, facing out.

Suddenly the dog Boots bounds ahead of me. The fate of most, he’s been a nuisance lately, getting old and won’t stay put. Instead of keeping to the yard as trained, he saunters off down to the highway, presenting a hazard to himself and others. He sleeps on the doorstep of some business or the town office, not budging; they must step over his furred bones to enter or exit. This morning he unearthed his chain and wandered off, dragging it behind. I followed the trailing imprint across a villager’s dewy yard, but then lost track. Later he appeared in our backyard without it; some kind soul apparently having unburdened him. He goes where he pleases, a wonderful thing. If it weren’t dangerous to himself and obtrusive to others. I want to note here that no one ever complained about Boots. So we thought, All’s fine. Until that night the animal control officer showed up.

Now Boots follows me, careless of porcupine, something I must consider and prepare for if he is to come. So it’s back to the house for a leash, which I will use when we near the ledge, sight of his last porcupine encounter.

As we mount the hill . . . noticing a clump of berry bushes completely massed in virgin’s bower, no berries visible. Spy large cloven tracks in the mud, scramble down and spread my fingers across one of the deep prints. The hand and the track are the same size. Moose. The dog clambers back up onto the roadway, having slaked his thirst, and we move on.

When we reach the road leading back to Swans Ledge, I stop and wait for Boots to come back to me, then unroll a length of the leash from my pocket and snap the clasp to his collar.

Now, as we walk . . . lightened distances glimpsed through trees on either side of the road. We are on a ridge, partly logged and exhibiting the beginnings of development: the new road itself and a few marked off lots. Signs of succession, a community in transition. Two houses have already gone up on this quarter mile stretch toward the ledge. Beyond, lightened distances are blue with haze and layers of mountains. Hazy, cloudy day, sticky too. Suddenly, as I walk with the dog trudging up hill beside me, a dragonfly dives into my face, darkens my sight momently—only a day old this particular dragonfly, but far older than ancient history the genus.

Tall blue lettuce grows rampant here, reminding me of clustered candelabrums. The roadway is of groomed gravel until we reach the cul-de-sac. As though this were suburbia, a suburb of Massachusetts. Beyond the cul-de-sac, trees have been logged in preparation for more road, more development.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.