This evening I walked Ted and Bea on Trinity Trail. When we arrived at the trailhead, some twenty minutes from my home,
Beatrice alerted me through barking that horse riders were disembarking horses from horse trailers. Fortunately, during the walk itself, we three exited the trail gracefully, and sat, at attention, as horses paraded by. We were the roustabout reception response for a Roseless Rose Review.
We walked to Hiker's Point, which I believe is named Hiker's Point because it as a far as a hiker might walk before making a point of turning around. I forget, sometimes, how restorative solitary hikes, with dogs and mp3 player in tow, can be to recapture life from the self-impositions of stress.
I dropped my cheap digital camera, dislodging the batteries. It has failed to start working again. I must get another dimestore-quality digital camera. I hope to get one that works with the two-bit ink effect software that came with this camera.
When we returned to the car, Bea parked herself in the backseat for a long rest. I thought I had finally, as we say "tuckered that dog out". When we returned home, she raced for the doorway and the water bowl.
Moments later, she brought her tennis ball for me to throw.
I am haunted by the egg-yeast wonder of remembered communion bread, a far cry from the punch-pressed IHS wafers of my youth.