GABRIEL'S TWILIGHT

At twilight we chose the path that runs along the canyon wall, it’s starting point so close to the edge that my heart begins to race a little.
My legs, not as strong as I’d like at this stage in the game and my shoes, still worth that second glance but old and worn, so much like the grand old man on all fours leading the way.
Even in my tentative spirit Gabriel’s passion for the quest is contagious. And so we press forward along the canyon face our feet nestled in the thick, fall grass so lovely that I forget for a moment to notice the sea and its sunset in the distance. Gabriel’s nose is relentlessly buried in the tall blades, his enormous muzzle disappearing from view. I imagine the stories those great nostrils are speed-reading along the crest as he stops and scurries and stops again. My shoulder is aching from the pull of the leash and his unbridled intention until at last we are across the ridge and standing in a broad opening that feels at once expansive and intimate. My repeated commands of, “with me,” have ceased in the knowing that we are standing on sacred space. The hush and the long, thick green of fall is all around and under foot and paw yet a sensing of something remarkable reveals that much of this meadow we have come upon is flattened as mats thrown open for meditation. I imagine the soft underbellies of the magical and majestic creatures that make this space their evening bed, rugged and torn hooves digging in, pressing down and then relenting to the irresistible need for rest. On other excursions we’ve taken note of these beauties from afar but this time Gabriel and I have come upon their quiet place, a protected alcove on the hillside where they look out and upon their ever-diminishing territory, not with sadness and regret, but with what I imagine to be a sort of understanding that what remains is precious and rare. With fawn coat and immense ears Gabriel looks as if one of them, even being mistaken as a family member from time to time in days past. “Dear?” they jest. “To me, yes,” I would reply.
We belong here. And we don’t. So we remain and then depart as quietly as we came. The grand old man, exhausted as much from the smelling as the walking now breathes heavy on his cozy bed beside me and I, not able to sleep, imagine the stories told to a Dane amongst the grasses at twilight.