Aki stands on the north side of the fish creek bridge, which surprises me because normally I have to carry her across it. The sound of turbulent water usually keeps her planted at the edge of the south side. The blade of grass she gripped between her teeth surprises me more. The little dog likes to like moisture off of grass blade but I’ve never seen her chew on one.
We have worked our way to here by crossing a mountain meadow using a decrepit corduroy road. The name is a disservice to roads and to corduroy cloth. The “road” is just a muddy wound that meanders through the meadow. To make it passable, someone has dropped bark-less rounds of Douglass pine into the mud. As I danced down the meadow from half-sunken log to half-sunken log, Aki trotted easily on a thin, grassy verge.
As we walked, a morning wind blew away clouds that had hidden the surrounding mountains. It also disturbed the calm of the meadow ponds, causing water skaters to move toward wind-protected water, and ruining the reflections of yellow pond lilies. Even though the corduroy road is rarely used, Aki manages to find some exciting smells. She doesn’t seem to mind me stopping for pictures or to listen to the lark-like song of an unseen bird.