52 Weeks ~ I left my heart in… (5/52)

RSiegel_Week5 - Blurr on the beach

LeCount Hollow Beach, Wellfleet, MA

the pewter sky is darkening
in the undefined time
between the endless afternoon
of buckets and spades,
striped umbrellas,
sandy potato chips

and the offered evening,
when we, freshly showered,
will drive the well-worn route into town,
step into our favorite restaurant
order drinks, and review our options.

in this time between then and next
we sit on the slope of the dune
and watch the smudged line
between strand and sea
as it shuffles toward us
then hisses away

the man’s arms are around the woman
the woman’s arms are around the child

the dog is running on the packed sand
like a seal with legs

nothing will ever be better than this

a three-masted schooner, sails puffed
like marshmallow balloons
could sail right along the shore,
the captain waving to us,
the brass buttons on his coat
sparkling in the last
sideways slant sunlight

and the moment could not be more perfect
than now
with the blurry line between sea and strand
with the girl and her sea-salted hair
with the pup racing the waves
with the man and woman
who have been through the worst
who know there is worse to come.

in a few minutes,
they’ll reluctantly rise,
gather up the beach toys and blankets
and walk the sandy trail to the cottage

home away from home

the evening beckons

the woman’s heart beats
the useless refrain:
stop time
stop time
stop time

Your Monday morning Cute-o-Gram

Feeling Mondayish and grey?

Sleepy and having trouble starting the day?

Me, too.

Maybe these pictures of three-month-old Vizsla pup, Gabe, dropping in on Gryfe for a visit yesterday will perk us all up.

Gryfe and Gabe

At first, Gryfe and Gabe seemed a bit overwhelmed by each other, but that didn’t last long.

All the decent pictures I was able to take were while they were standing still, unsure.

Minutes later, they were mauling each other in frenzied dog happiness. All those pictures were a complete blurr.




Gabe is wondering what the heck I’m doing with that lickable block of plastic.

Gryfe asking Gabe to please play

Gryfe is asking if he can get a puppy.

Under the influence of visiting, sweet, soft, cinnamon Gabe, I was asking myself the same thing. Just for a second.

Cross that bridge and then… Bark!

Most every day, the dog and I take a stroll.


Our usual path is to take the trail from the driveway down into the river valley. From there, we have several choices, but the most interesting choices require that we cross the iron bridge.

Iron bridge over west branch

The bridge is no obstacle to me, but the dog fears it because the deck is an open grating that’s unfriendly to paws.

Bridge deck

Not only is it painful to walk across when you don’t have shoes, you can see the water rushing under it, which makes the crossing a dizzying prospect. And if you’re walking on paws that are not much larger than the holes, you might be worrying that a leg will fall through.

Our last dog, Phoebe, also feared the bridge. When she was a pup, we carried her across until she got sick of that and learned to cross on her own, head down, toes splayed.

Gryfe has the benefit of a set of wooden boards someone put down on the deck a few years ago, so he never learned to walk across the grating itself.

Even so, he’s terrified of the bridge. He always reaches it before I do, then he waits in front of it, unwilling to actually step onto it unless he’s absolutely sure it’s required. When I get there, he slinks along the boards, very slowly at first, then he breaks into a run when he reaches the second third, so he can quickly put that bridge behind him. On the other side, there’s the trail to the beach, and there’s the huge field where he can race in circle and chase red-winged black birds, and then there’s the really good trail, the one that goes up into the hills on the other side of the valley.

Once across, he used to race off to explore the treasures of the far side of the bridge. Recently, though, he’s developed a new habit: he’ll stand on the far side of the bridge, waiting for me, the slow poke, to get across, and then he’ll start barking, joyously. “Hey! I did it! Did you see what I did?! I crossed that nasty bridge! Did you see?! Did you see?!”

Yes, I saw. And you get to do it again on the way back from our walk, silly boy.

I could take a lesson from Gryfe: approach my fears cautiously but head-on, remembering that there’s really cool stuff on the other side, get the hard part over with quickly, and then bark my head off in celebration when I make it, even if it means I have to do it all over again the very next day.