Kickass, the doorstop dog, reports that the keeper and Phyllis joined the mass exodus to the gloriously blossoming natural world Sunday with a patrol of the Driftless area where Phyllis photographed trilliums and other wildflowers, and the keeper finally caught a breakfast trout.
Increasingly aware of age-related limitations, the keeper did not look for morels since he realized some time ago that morels obviously have the ability to move into hiding once he enters their environment. (He may do a book: “The Case of the Moving Morels.”)
For several hours, the keeper and Phyllis immersed themselves into a remote valley beside a clear, trickling stream where a pair of sandhills dominated the symphony of bird song: Phyllis taking the sun in a comfortable chair with her Kindle and a bit of wine; and the keeper stumbling off with a flyrod and attempting to recreate a semblance of rusty skills.
To be embraced by the Earth’s natural harmony, however briefly, was both humbling and invigorating, perhaps more so for having known so many cycles of the all-encompassing renewal. The occasional young bicyclists riding past as they embraced the flawless wild afternoon in their own way, was a bittersweet reminder to Phyllis and the keeper that once the great renewal found them as fresh and energetic as the squawking Sandhills; now, not so much, but, damn, they will take it however it comes!