We’re in Buxton. It’s a tiny village, and the lack of human
presence on a cold spring night is palatable.
The tourists don’t venture this far south for spring break. Mostly there
are just a handful of dedicated surfers and fishers and us.
On a cloudless night the sky is illuminated by the light of
countless stars, but tonight the rain soaked ground is steamy. A thick haze
coats the air, dimming the human experience, cuing an ethereal quality. No
human presence disrupts the spell, save one; The false white beam of the Cape
Hatteras light house beacon slices through the inky sky.
A naïve puppy strains at his leash as we walk in the black.
He doesn’t know what the darkness holds. He just wants to run. Let me RUN! he
shouts with his desperate puppy legs.
The dark is scary though. There are hidden dangers he cannot
understand. Even the grass, innocent in its appearance, holds a dark secret.
Prickly burrs are nested among the blades.
“They will hurt the tender pads of your paws if you step on
them”, I caution.
He can’t hear me though, so determined he is for adventure.
So I protect him with a thin lime green leash.
One day I hope he can run without getting hurt by some prick
hidden in the grass. I hope that he can look for adventure with confidence,
instead being over sheltered by my fear.
I mostly hope that there is no pain to take away the joy of
his adventure.
Of course, I worry I’m holding him back. I
wonder if I could just let him go.... Would he run as fast and far as he wanted? Would his successes be extraordinary? Would
he exceed all the expectations laid before him, simply because he was able to
run without a thin leash?
And of course, would his stories always start with “Remember that time...”?
~ savor the run ~
