Each day (two or three times a day in fact) we walk a now familiar trail across our fields.  ‘We’ is me and the dogs, them bounding, me striding, through the increasingly tall hay in bottom field.  Along the way we check on animals, bees, vegetables; we patrol this place of ours, checking each piece is as it should be.

I wonder, as we walk, about other trails that may have criss crossed this land, faded long since just as ours could so easily fade.  The dent in the grass that shows us where to walk each day would easily grow over, but in my mind is it clear and firm.  I know the only way to keep it fresh is to keep walking, rain or shine, summer and winter.  We walk our trail, making it a little deeper each time; one day it will be gone but not today, not tomorrow either.