海角大神

My alarm goes off early because I have a business call to make.聽

鈥淕ood morning, Rio,鈥� I whisper to a wagging Labrador retriever.聽

We head for the back door and find 10 inches of snow blanketing our home. Oh no, Bryan will have to rake the roof again, I think. But Rio rolls onto his back, squirming in the white stuff and kicking his back legs like a kangaroo at the air above him, delighted. His days in an animal shelter in New Mexico are long forgotten 鈥� he鈥檚 wholeheartedly embraced life as a Colorado dog.

My work call runs long. Rio needs a walk. I鈥檇 planned to hop onto a webinar, but my husband is busy shoveling snow off the deck. I know he has a project due today that he should be working on instead. Rio nudges my leg with his snout, wondering why we are still inside. We鈥檙e overdue for our morning hike. As I pull on my boots, I鈥檓 stressed. I don鈥檛 have time for this!

Rio and I walk a block through our neighborhood to the trailhead. It鈥檚 guarded by a 12-foot-high snow berm; the snowplow guy has been working hard. I chide myself for forgetting my snowshoes as I clamber around the icy wall, feet planting postholes in the snow. Rio leaps happily into the powder, which is up to his neck. He bobs up and down like a sea serpent through the trees.

But I trudge, worrying about my to-do list, about Bryan鈥檚 strained back, about how we鈥檒l get everything done. Thoughts jostle for attention in my mind, and I don鈥檛 notice the world around me until Rio starts barking.聽

A tassel-eared squirrel chitters at him from a high branch of a ponderosa pine. Below, my dog has his front paws up on the tree and is wagging his tail so fast it almost blurs. We haven鈥檛 seen a squirrel in at least a week because of all the storms, so this is a treat.

Once again, my canine teacher is reminding me to enjoy the present moment, and I鈥檓 grateful. Naturalist John Muir said we should keep close to nature鈥檚 heart by spending time in the woods: 鈥淲ash your spirit clean,鈥� he said.聽

I take a deep breath and look around. Pine boughs bend under the weight of snow. The sky is pale gray 鈥� more snowfall is on the way 鈥� but there is a sort of purple glow in the woods. I feel lighter as Rio and I continue up the trail.

Suddenly there is an explosion of snow. A nearby tree has released its heavy burden, snapping back upright. Silver particles dust the air around me as a flock of birds flees the area, twittering to one another as they fly overhead. I gape up at them through the trees and realize I should close my mouth, which I do, but I can鈥檛 look away. There are so many of them.

I watch and listen in wonder for what seems like a full minute. There will be 1,440 minutes in this day, but this is the one I鈥檒l remember most. When the birds have found new roosts, I look back to the earth and there is my sweet boy, waiting patiently for a treat. He knows I鈥檒l want to celebrate this moment we鈥檝e just shared.聽

鈥淚 love you, Rio!鈥� I say as I give him a cookie. He has trained me well.

We loop back toward home, and as we approach the berm, I see children jumping off the top while hollering, 鈥淐annonball!鈥澛�

Rio stands at attention, tail wagging hopefully, eager to frolic with them. But we might not know these kids 鈥� perhaps they don鈥檛 want kisses from a slobbery pooch. I take hold of his collar and we walk awkwardly through the snow.聽

Then I hear a child鈥檚 joyful call: 鈥淩io!鈥� It鈥檚 a neighbor who has known Rio since they were both puppies. I release my dog, and he races to join the fun. Laughter tickles my ears. I grin, spirit washed clean, ready for whatever the day may bring.