Good Times

Nothing quite compares to running in a newly thawed field in late March with a dog. The morning was cool, and the mist was lingering among the trees having just fled from the field. Wide open spaces beckoned thoughts and cradled feelings. Excitement registered on every hair of the dog's back, her breathing fast and hard, her eyes darting back and forth, sniffing, searching, digging. This is what I call Bunny Field. Named thus because of the remains and evidence of rabbit warrens throughout the open spaces. There is low land here, water, early greens. Trails of raised mounds weave in and out, over and under.

Deer also live here, their footprints trail into the woods, little scat mounds like so many piles of tiny marbles are scattered in the fallen, wet grass and retired weeds.

Possibility reigns here.

Hawks swoop over head.

Little sprouts burst from the just softened soil.

Running freely, we both enjoyed the morning.

And then it was nap time.