In the snowy yard with our corgi, I am the X at the center of a joyful, galloping figure 8. You can see the map of his progress like the marks of a skater on the ice. Happy corgis always run in circles.
Sniffing, woofing, galloping like a bunny while his bat-ears flapped in the breeze, Ferdinand enjoyed our yard at nose-and-paw level. I did what I have done ever since the day we moved in – reveled in the amazing enchantment of owning LAND. Land with dirt and birds and twigs and ferns. Land with slope and streamlet. Land with trees older than I am. It will never grow old. The enchantment will survive mowing and weeding and shoveling. I love it under my feet and before my eyes.
Recounting this joy to my husband after dinner, I heard myself saying that it’s like writing a book and having it illustrated. These are two joys that never grow dim. I wondered briefly why they came together in my mind, and I realized they are the same. Both are something ethereal made tangible. Dream made visible. Wish made palpable. And both are full of their own beauty.