Trail Dog

If ever there was one, I am a trail dog.  What happens on the trail is such a flailing hash-up of (1)Exertion; (2)Exhaustion; (3)Exhilaration.  Bike trails.  Hiking Trails.  Water Trails.  I live for them.  It is the visceral intrigue of that touchy unknown something.  There is some mysterious feeling that draws me along the edge of a wooded field and down to the cool, cool river. 

It was that year - 1958 - the year of the dog.  I was born into it.  Now, sixty years later, this year - 2018 - it is again the year of the dog.  And I'm still a trail dog.  Well, if I should live to be 120 years old, today, at age sixty, I'm still only a pup (relatively speaking). 

So on I go through the trees.  I scramble through the brush on a narrowing path that finally opens up onto scattered rocks along the river bank.  There is a deery green meadow on the other side.  Boldly, my arms outstretched, I make my careful steps one by one across a swayback log.  On I go. 

​In these later years, I'm still filled with curiosity.  Still driven.  What is it, I wonder?  The smell of the river.  Some flowering sweetness and pine pitch in the warm Spring air.  I have to see.  I have to find out.  To the top of the hill I go.  And to my great delight, I discover another off-shoot trail that goes cross-county into the next valley. 

I am totally exhausted and for me that's the best...  I pull out my journal and scribble these notes. 

​Tomorrow, there's another trail for this old dog to follow.  That is the greatest gift.  So see you at the end of the trail ...in the year of the dog - when I reach 120 years old.    

Chris Hammond deepens the conversation on how to cultivate fertile soil for growing mindful, creative touch in a connection economy and a future arriving soon that is finally 'open season' for artists.  Connect with Chris here.