Almost Heaven

By Belinda

He shot through the front door like a child let out at recess; Molson, after too many days without "walkies." For the last few evenings I've been busy making, baking, serving and eating pie! If ever there was a time when a good walk was needed. :)

 

Tonight I came home determined to "just rest," and crashed with Paul in front of our T.V. to watch detective stories. But Molson's ever hopeful eyes were not to be resisted; not by me.

It was 8.00 pm when we left the house, and the night drawing in already, I chose a different direction than usual; one safer in the dusk, and away from the main road where there is no sidewalk.  

He walked ahead, off the lead, and I followed a path I normally walk past, to the brow of a hill that looks across the fields.

 I stood there, every sense attuned to the wonder surrounding me. This photo of that very spot was taken in May, so the tall fronds of feathery goldenrod aren't there  yet, but tonight I was surrounded by their splendour. I wished I had brought my camera.

The fields sang a lifesong, against the soft backdrop roar of traffic going north to cottage country.

The oppressive humidity and heat that hung over our province this week, broke last night and this day has been perfectly, gently warm with a soft wind and showers. Now, though, standing on the hill surrounded by tall, golden trumpeting goldenrod, I didn't feel any breeze, but with my peripheral vision I was aware of the tiniest movements in every blade and stalk. I had to stare to catch them at it, like when someone is asleep but you want to be sure they're still alive. It was an eerie feeling, everything moving so subtly, as if all of nature was breathing, There was a hardly perceptible movement in the air I realized then, but it amazed me that it would set the grasses dancing.

And I wondered if the streets in heaven are really paved with goldenrod and golden dogs and if they are, could it really be any more perfect?