Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Feb. 21, 2003: Dog's Eye View

You don't know how much you miss a blue sky until it's suddenly back, and you remember how good it feels.

In case you had your head stuck in a snow bank for the past several days, the East Coast of the United States was hit with a tremendous amount of snow.

But as we head into the weekend, it's already warming up. And when my dog and I take a walk this afternoon, she is her old playful self, the snow having melted down to a somewhat more manageable level, suitable for frolicking.

The sky overhead is bright cobalt, and the bare limbs of tree branches stretch joyfully up to it. Children coming out of school throw snowballs at each other, and Una and I wade through the puddles.

Two kids splash by with backpacks on wheels; the boy drags his through the inch or two of melted muck. She wisely picks hers up.

There are deep cracks on the top of the snow, and on the segments of sidewalk cleared by snow blowers, the clean edges are melting downwards, like a Salvador Dali painting.

Two days ago, while taking a neighborhood walk, the sound was of scraping shovels. Today it is the drip, the patter, the splash of water dripping from roofs. Sometimes insistent, sometimes tinkling, sometimes triumphant.

When I lived in State College, we saw a blue sky so infrequently that our eyes burned as we tried to adjust. It was a commonly relayed "fact" amongst Penn Staters that State College was the second rainiest city in the country, with Seattle being the first. Whether this was true or not, it is true that gray skies hung almost constantly over the town.

The segments of sidewalk that had been frozen over this morning are murky puddles now, and Una jumps up on the high, partly frozen snow banks to avoid them. She skids along, one paw or another occasionally breaking through, with a silly smile on her face. I do my best to steady her. She doesn't seem to need it.

A couple days ago, she was frightened of all the snow, which she can barely see above. I can imagine the world from her perspective would be thrilling right now; walking down these tunnels of snow, ears barely poking above it, almost nothing to see but white.

Things hidden by the snow are now starting to emerge. For example, there's a shredded newspaper on top of a snow bank. I can only assume it got there when this particular family cleared their parking space with a snow blower. An errant paper met its demise here, I fear.

And here, deep letters reading, "I love" and an indecipherable name, as the letters grow deeper, meld together.

And only this morning I found a very large keychain, on one side a mirror, on the other a formal portrait of two girls, friends I'd assume. I carefully set it on top the snow mound.

There are boulders of dirty snow. I think the plow must have toppled them onto the cleaner snow while making a finish-up pass.

One car sits in a neatly shoveled out driveway, only shoveled partway to the road. The snow continues for a good two feet before the way is clear. I guess they're not going anywhere anytime soon.

I used to think it was just the snow that excited Una, but I think now that maybe it's the change, too. The way the world can become something else. And noticing all the little changes that take place afterwards.

No wonder Una gets so distracted on our walks. There's so much to notice, to sample, to appreciate, which I so blindly stumble past.

Moral:
Listen to your doggie; she's wiser than you know.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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