01 January 2015

Feral soothsayers for trying to bring in the new year just loud enough.

How does it work with soothsayers? Do you have to pay them to hear the future, or is clairvoyance a gift and one glance into a crystal ball lays out the plan in store?

We walked in the forest, first thing of the new year morning. Not exactly first thing. It was cold. We waited for the sun to a little ways up, melt the frost and make a few shining light patches. I was thinking this was the walk where I would hear a plan, the ghost of christmas new years would light a bomb between my ears and I would know what we were supposed to do.

Twenty Fifteen. This could be some year. There are some things about it already that feel like they could pop open if I could just find the key. Every time I close my eyes I look for it. Where's the freakin' KEY?

I've never been one to find any missing keys, let alone a metaphorical one. Didn't happen. No vision quest. We still had a nice walk. Although I think the guy who lives out there and parks his white car near mine has been shitting close in near one of our paths.

We did some agilities. Banksy's Auntie Wendy helped rev up our teeter totter, and Kathleen's dirt engineering put us back on track again with new and improved non tippy planks of running dogwalk. This was happy. Agility with Banksy is a thing now. Game on. There was some more forest walking. I wished my foot would stop hurting.

We walked on the bluffs later in the day. Even Ruby. Banksy joyfully leaped into the arms of a drunk party guy on the edge of the cliff, she loves her some drunk guys, public glasses of wine sloshing with gusto. Gustavo got covered in mud. I tried to stay quiet in case the fortune telling message was coming in on my radar, although I did kindly give excellent directions to the damp city guys who got caught by a high tide and had a long hike back to their car.

By dark, I had a comatose border collie. Sleeping small black dogs. But I never got the memo.

I've got to keep looking, I think if I stay just feral enough, maybe it will appear in the lines across my palm. Or maybe that's how I'm supposed to be. The one that's always crawling around, lifting up logs, and peering underneath. Usually not finding anything. Chaser of wild geese. Wandering aimlessly about, listening very carefully for just the right words. This is the year, though, that I very much want to find them.

Good luck on your 2015. Stay feral.

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