The Ravine

Coming down the ravine was easy at first; a dry small cut in the hill where small patches of snow still remained. But the deception of a gentle slope can suddenly plunge into waterfalls or flat fast stretches of slides where water gushes below. That is part of any question concerning the way through all the alder and jutting rock face. I felt more at ease since dogs were hot and needed to cool off in the snow. At least we had gravity to draw us down without too much sweat and fatigue. The heat seemed to sink into the depression, around which the alder hung over the naked ground. I found a small area of snow and sat to cool myself on; the dogs plopped themselves down in the cold snow, letting the icy surface cool their bodies. Pink tongues sucked in the air for ventilation while I took off my pack and settled for a spell. The apple I ate was a experience of sweetness that only physical exertion can bring to a level of ambrosial delight. The moment seemed to expand in that narrow little ravine, tucked into a hidden corner where thought ceased, and where an animal part connected with the earth, flowing into one kind of consciousness. The layers of reason and preoccupation melted into directness of sight and sound and smell: the blues and greens and whites of earth and sky; the gushing of water somewhere below; and the mixing of decaying leaves with the perfume of hidden flowers and plants. Discomfort frees the body, conditions the will, and brings into motion clear perception of the survival instinct. Sometimes, in these moments of clarity, the future state seems so remote; and time has no value, except in the light and heat, wind and relief, and hunger or thirst. Time, that human reminder of imagined future states.Reluctantly, I gave myself back to purpose and motion, to continue down and back. The dogs seemed cooled off by now, so I roused them from their rest, and continued down the ravine.