“Fuck that” She spat. As if the words tasted bad in in her mouth.

“ you let him out you should go find him.” She reasoned.

“ why can’t you just help me look for Frankie? You don’t even have to think of it as searching for our lost dog just go for a walk with me Anna.”

And crossed her arms, leaned back on one hip and raised one eyebrow before saying.

“ why would I wanna go outside right now? It looks terrible out there.”

For how strong Anna’s personality is, she can be pretty soft about some things.

“ it’s not even really raining out there it’s just foggy.” I reported to her.

“ Amber. I’m having a nice little morning. I am in my PJs and my coffee is ready. I am on vacation and I don’t want to walk in the mud and search through the brush for YOUR dog.”

“ Frankie is our dog Anna!”

Frankie was a gift from our parents, but he definitely became my dog more than Anna‘s dog. But only because I had spent more time with him Anna it’s just busier than me with work in school and all her friends she wasn’t around as much as I was during Frankie‘s puppy years . I just didn’t get out as much as her so Frankie and I spent a lot of time together. I was mostly the one feeding him and taking him for walks.

Deep down, though on an unspoken level, I know that animals consent people‘s characters or aura’s something like that. And not that Anna has bad energy around her. It’s just that maybe Frankie could sense more chaotic spirits around her or maybe her rough edges. Frankie is a bit of a shy animal, very sensitive and gentle so that’s maybe why he would gravitate more towards me.

Anna just stared me down and protest to debate any further. Finally, she says matter-of-factly.
“ well if it’s just fog, make sure to take your raincoat. It could rain at anytime.” Matching her tone I say “ enjoy your coffee if I’m not back by dark tell someone.” In a rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen to be with her coffee.

It did seem pretty damp out there. It definitely did rain earlier, but now the visible threat of rain is hanging heavy and low in the thick fog.

I put on my black River rain boots because who knows what mess Frankie is going to have me go through. Also suiting up with my yellow raincoat and red wool toque. I look like a sticker or some brand mascot for something salty or nautical, which isn’t too out of place on the English coast.

I grabbed some of Frankie‘s favorite treats, bacon, flavored dog cookies still in the package, of course. The opening of the cookie bag is the most powerful sound to summon my dog, stubborn body and spirit. Normally, this isn’t an issue at home Frankie always goes out without a leash in an unfeed yard, but we are visiting aunt tabby, and and her area is new and unknown to Frankie, so I could have guessed he would take it upon himself to make the unknown known to him and his curious nose.

I open the front door to be faced with a wall of mist. If I didn’t know any better, it could have been a wall of snow. This fog was particularly white and thick not so much. It’s typical gray and dreary pallet. Most of the land here is flat farmland, some very small rolling hills in the distance, but for the most part, it was not complicated terrain there was a small patch of wooded area, but nothing anyone or any dog could get lost in .

Chop, chop, glide.
You trust the thin metal blade under your foot. Chop, chop, glide. It doesn’t cut through the ice, but it could cut through your hand. Chop, chop, glide. Just scratching the surface of the ice steady your balance, but move with grace. Chop, chop, glide. No one in particular is looking at you, but you can’t help but feel there’s a spotlight on you. Chop, chop, glide. You are not falling, but you are also in no position to have 1 foot off the ice any longer than it needs to be.
Chop, chop, glide.
You set yourself in motion you can feel the cold air rise off the frozen surface gently push against your face and blow through your hair.
Chop, chop, glide. Maybe if you started doing this when you were younger, you could’ve been really good by now instead of feeling the imposter syndrome that comes with trying new things later in life. Chop, chop, glide. You know that’s not a good way to reflect on life. This should have could have don’t exist right now. Right now you are pushing forward. Skating on ice gliding through life at least at the moment. Chop, chop, glide.

How can one person ever make a decision so large and all affecting? Is it even possible to get enough facts measure all the possible scenarios and get results that show a good or bad decision. This process becomes infinitely more difficult considering I’m not unhappy. I am just cursed with the ambition and the spirit of adventure. I find that I am forsakenly possessed to choose the path of most resistance. Robert Frost only talked about the path less traveled. I would like to assume the path of most resistance is the path less traveled, but somehow I feel that there was more peace in the path less traveled and on the path of most resistance. I’m Restless, almost angry with myself. Why do I feel the need to uproot myself every time I slightly grow into the local soil. It is destructive to belong somewhere for a few months and a few seasons, then years only to feel an itch in my feet. It is truly a problem I create for myself, but I am unable to point to exactly where this notion of leaving moving transplanting myself again arises. It is both a blessing and a curse to blow away with the wind, in the freedom to follow the unknown directions of the universe. My instincts are rewarded by new places, faces, experiences, but it also creates a rift in my soul, letting in the “what if you stayed?” and “now where would you be?”. To constantly second-guess and think of the stability of deep roots how nice that would be if I could only stand still. Is there growth in leaving or is it impatience of sowing seeds?

We came around the corner of the hedge wall, only to find that we must continue down the path lined again with towering hedges. Green, thick, bushy walls, much too dense to see-through or even to attempt to force our way through. These healthy and neatly trimmed hedge walls are inconveniently too high to see above. If we want to know what’s around the corner, we literally have to turn the corner to see if there is hope or more disappointment. So far the turning of every corner has led to the same sight. A lined path of hedging persuading us the next turn will look different. We have walked so many of the enticing paths getting around the corner either turning left walking more to peek around the corner. The next intersection to turn right just to be faced with more of the same, each corner seemed to insist it was different from the last the joke was on us as we were desperate to be faced with an opening. The hedges seemed to be insisting that we look around just one more corner. Every step we took forward we implored the hedges to reveal a new sight to us. It is possible we chose a poor path that will never open for us, but maybe with each turn we get closer to a clearing and exit something that gets us out of this insanity of bush work. What if the next corner is the one that finally shows us determination pays off that we stayed the course and now the reward of persistence will be presented to us. It didn’t seem like there was any hope behind us so even though going forward seems like the encouragement of insanity we pushed onwards. I suppose we will just continue one foot in front of the other. One hedge lined path after another. Like a bad dream it just feels never ending. Not fully awake or peacefully sleeping we were just persisting.