I took a walk this morning in the woods next to the school where I teach, and I imagined I was in the same woods I roamed when I was a boy on Long Island, although I’m now 42 and live in the hills of western Massachusetts. I imagined these were the same pines I smelled, the same sharp air I breathed, and the same birdsong I followed, often barefoot down sandy paths. And, as I walked, I looked ahead to when I'll be an old man passing under the same bare oaks my children will someday pass under when they are old and their children will pass under when they are old, and I am gone. At some point, I noticed a coyote track, a single pawmark in the mud in the middle of the trail. The mud was soft and wet and the print was fresh. I can see the coyote leaping from the dark on one side of the trail, making a brief landing here, and then disappearing into the brush on the other side.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
In the Woods, Past, Present and Future
March 8
I took a walk this morning in the woods next to the school where I teach, and I imagined I was in the same woods I roamed when I was a boy on Long Island, although I’m now 42 and live in the hills of western Massachusetts. I imagined these were the same pines I smelled, the same sharp air I breathed, and the same birdsong I followed, often barefoot down sandy paths. And, as I walked, I looked ahead to when I'll be an old man passing under the same bare oaks my children will someday pass under when they are old and their children will pass under when they are old, and I am gone. At some point, I noticed a coyote track, a single pawmark in the mud in the middle of the trail. The mud was soft and wet and the print was fresh. I can see the coyote leaping from the dark on one side of the trail, making a brief landing here, and then disappearing into the brush on the other side.
I took a walk this morning in the woods next to the school where I teach, and I imagined I was in the same woods I roamed when I was a boy on Long Island, although I’m now 42 and live in the hills of western Massachusetts. I imagined these were the same pines I smelled, the same sharp air I breathed, and the same birdsong I followed, often barefoot down sandy paths. And, as I walked, I looked ahead to when I'll be an old man passing under the same bare oaks my children will someday pass under when they are old and their children will pass under when they are old, and I am gone. At some point, I noticed a coyote track, a single pawmark in the mud in the middle of the trail. The mud was soft and wet and the print was fresh. I can see the coyote leaping from the dark on one side of the trail, making a brief landing here, and then disappearing into the brush on the other side.
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