The sun has risen high enough to wash out the pasture this early May morning. Insects dot the air like dancing fairies. Soaring cliff swallows snatch them from midair as they soar from east to west, north to south, up to down and down to up.
Sunlight catches their presence ethereal.
Such is the nature of impermanence. Life on the wing feels even more transitory with altitude.
Everything else feels more solid and slow-moving on the ground. Take for instance, the family of three moose, who all came to graze fresh green shoots off the hillside at dusk. We watched them for a while from inside the house. I reassured our Labrador mutt, Charlie, that they were no threat if we remained on the other side of the glass.
He was unconvinced.
He remained more so as we ventured out for a final pee at ten o’clock. Turned out, the grazing pair of calves weren’t done with the hillside. In the moon wash, dark bodies blended with ponderosa pine bark to form a tall mass of foreboding presence.
We all retreated back into the safety of the indoors with the sounding of the moose’s bugle-like call. Charlie and our Shepherd mutt, Smudges, were forced to hold it for the long night.
The family has grown comfortable bedding down in soft, fresh, green grasses intrinsic to Rocky mountain springtime under celestial protection of gentle moon wash. We bade them all sweet dreams as we retired for our own night. We also knew, from assurance of repetitive behavior, that they’d be gone by morning.
And tonight, we’ll bid them welcome, again.
Namaste, and thank you for tuning in.