Places of Magic

I’ve always liked this vine-topped stone gate about a half mile down Cedar Lane from the Cabin.

So mysterious. It would appear to lead nowhere, but appearances can be deceiving. Maybe it’s the entry to the skeleton dance, or the blue jay coven, or maybe it’s where Oliver goes when he disappears at night, where he hangs with the foxes.

Went to another magical location this afternoon — Oliver led me through the raspberry prickers in the woods to a mystically open hillside with a spread of golden leaves, the glow of autumn hanging in the air — a Brothers Grimm kind of place. Then I pried out of the pit hound’s smiling mouth a small yellowed bone with a knuckle, exactly like the orphan’s digit in The Orphanmaster. The signet ring in the book would have been too much to ask, I guess.

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Filed under Dogs, Home, Jean Zimmerman, Nature

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