I spent the better part of my weekend searching the island for Zora, Jori’s (one of my coworkers) dog. Zora is a wonderful dog who we all love and adore, and she took off for a walkabout saturday afternoon. I searched all saturday evening, late into the night, finally getting close enough to hear her, and I used everything I had in me to try to get her, but I reached a point where there was no safe option but to turn back and follow my own footholds in the wind-hardened snow back down to the village. Anything else would’ve probably resulted in a search and rescue operation for me. Ed and I went up today to look for her again, but the wind had since kicked up and the snow was worse: visibility was poor and even if she had barked for us when we called, we would not have heard. I am exhausted, ever muscle aches and many joints hurt, I am worried sick for her, and I fear that the sad and frightened barks and yelps I heard when I had to turn back will be the last memory I have of her.

Yeah, I know she’s just a dog. But still. God damn it.

I’m not sure how it’s related, but it also occurred to me to note that Birches by Robert Frost has been for some time and likely will continue to be one of my favorite poems. Below is an excerpt.

May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away 
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love: 
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
 I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.