An Ordinary Night

Suddenly, I found myself with a wealth of time on my hands.  I was supposed to spend almost all of March with my cameras in Canada on a sort of expedition and at the last moment, the main backer for the trip dropped the project.  That part of the situation was a touch annoying but what I felt more than annoyance was utter elation — a strong sense of freedom replacing the urgency of all things schedule related.

I put on my boots at the back door that evening and stepped out into a wide expanse of possibility, high desert and gale force wind, a low ceiling of flying cloud.  I stepped out into over thirty days of life-space such as I haven’t had in…well…in longer than I can recall.  The dogs and I practically ran up the rim rock ledge behind the house, to get closer to the sky, to gain a firmer grip on the lay of the river, to grasp at the corner of the concept of horizon.

The corn stubble up there was rickety in the wind and the dogs immediately dislodged a small flock of Canada geese from their roost.  They rose into the air, hammering at it with all their practiced might, I heard the zithering of their wings churning the night air white.  Many were missing flight feathers, either naturally lost or shot off over the past few months.  I stood beneath them, marveling at their ability to stall, hold easy and steady in invisible currents; they are masters of water and wind.  I am ashamed to be mildly clumsy and terrestrial in the presence of such gifted beasts.

I had an earache from the force of the breeze and while I waded through grass of stature and aimless tumbleweed Farley and Tater located a group of pheasant — still in hunting mode, those dogs are.  Tater was backing Farley beautifully so I took the moment as a training opportunity for Tater who’s steadiness to wing and shot mysteriously turned to rust and ash part of the way through the upland season this year.  I walked forth and flushed the birds while keeping an eye on him.  He held.  We went on like that as we walked, finding more quail and pheasant hens to work.

I looked around as I walked, mittened hands shoved deep in my pockets, noting the palate of the landscape and the cautious fringe of green slowly parading down the canyon walls, the sudden green-silver of the sage leafing out, the evening tunes of birds.  I was compelled to lay down in it for a spell, as I have been known to do, since I could afford the time.