March 18, 2005


The morning fog curled with anticipation, lingering longer than usual as if it, too, wanted to see what this particular day would bring. The long shadows of the orchard pointed west. The longest of them darted all the way to the gate by the mountain road, then retreated, like the fog, to wait beneath the trees. All morning the path lay empty, no familiar silhouette appeared at the trail’s edge. No dogs barked to greet a traveler emerging from the mountains, but they kept their ears up and even the cats continued to look west, waiting.