Millie and I got up late to the mountains last night. It was a dark, cloud-covered sky with a stiff wind lashing the bare trees above a landscape of unbroken white.
I made a fire to warm up the house, unloaded the car, gave Mille a petite dejeuner as a reward for the ardors of our trip up the Taconic parkway (and the fact that I wanted her to sleep in).
Alas it was not to be. Around 3:30 a.m. her furious barking woke me. I lay still for a while hoping it would subside and not wanting to give in. Probably just a deer crashing though the woods. Or maybe a fox inspecting our back porch.
Finally I gave in, donned my winter hiking boots, a Pendleton robe, and a Yankee cap, grabbed a flashlight and let Millie loose out the back door.
Immediately she tore off toward the far reaches of the yard with me tromping in pursuit. At the end of our property she barked furiously into the woods. As I came up on her in the dark she turned. Her eyes glowed red and I couldn’t help but laugh.
The sky was no longer gray. A meniscus moon was out and a spray of stars. As cold as it was, it was a warm cold. All at once I felt it: spring. It was a genuine spring night in early March, a middle-of-the-night promise of relief to come. Maybe that’s what Millie was so excited about.
I led my big Golden Retriever back to the house where we shared a snack of crackers and cheese in the glow of the open refrigerator door. Soon we went back to bed.
I’m writing this today from my favorite Great Barrington coffee spot, Uncommon Grounds. It really feels like spring up here. I hadn’t expected it at all, which makes it all the more wonderful. But Millie knew.
Edward Grinnan is Editor-in-Chief and Vice President of GUIDEPOSTS Publications.
