New year. New time. New moments to feast on memories and then to cross the bridge into the next moment. To strive forward. Always forward.

Today, I went hiking with my best friend, the Owl Singer, and her dog Franka. I brought my newish dog with me, my sweet Figgis who is huge and lunges with sudden power bursts of energy but really is just an 80 pound marshmallow.

We walked for ten miles along the river. We talked about our families, our careers. We compared notes on our aging parents. Our dogs found a deer skull beside the path. It’s jaw. O w jutted out from under desiccated tawny skin, the antlers broken inches from the skull.

It was grisly.

It was lovely where it lay in a crown of leaves with dusky long winter grass flared around its edges.

A blue jay called to us, tucked up in winter trees that bore no leaves. It seemed lonely as it chattered to us about the slate gray clouds, burdened with snow laying across the horizon.

In a long, wide field, black cows scuffled the thin grass for food. A single heifer walked the field’s length, followed by a gangly calf. A single orange chicken strutted amongst the herd, its head sharply bobbing back and forth with its steps.

Today was about walking out five miles to where we came upon the mile marker sign and realized we really did have to turn around. Because tomorrow can not be denied. Tomorrow must be fulfilled even though we have families and aging parents and dogs that snuggle at each clump of grass and decaying leaf.

Owl Singer took pictures of turkey feather mushrooms, of the water winnowing over shallow rocks. I stood behind her and clapped and waved my hands so her dog would look toward the camera and not at the underbrush surrounding us. As Franka would look at me, I could feel her questioning me and my inane loudness. We had come to the forest to escape the world’s nosiness. To live within the forest’s inhabited, thriving quiet.