Bonnie and Clyde Files 37

I brought cheese and oatmeal cookies to share with Bonnie and Clyde. It is a good thing to break bread with dogs outdoors.

Drizzle occupied the landscape. Everything was soundless as we moved through the pasture toward the river. I was astonished and ecstatic how swift Bonnie moved on point. Clyde caught her fresh vigor and picked up his gait. Our mojo was strong.

We came to the electric fence and I heard a tiny crackle. I didn’t feel like navigating through it so I took a new path to find the river. I felt like exploring. I wanted to keep walking with Bonnie and Clyde forever, walk right into a new country.

A song entered my mind, a great song about a river, the Cuyahoga River, the Ohio river that caught on fire in 1969 and helped galvanize the modern American environmental movement. The rock band REM wrote the song and it contains the immortal line: “Let’s put our heads together and start a new country up.”

I wanted to gather dogs and friends and elk and family and a woman of Rilke and start that new country up. And I’m not just talking about on paper. I mean on the ground, near a river. There will be no clearcuts in this county and only animals will adorn our units of currency. The biggest denomination will display a beaver.

Bonnie and Clyde noticed the disruption to our normal routine and perked up for the new path. They like exploring! Most humans don’t. They don’t even know how to read a paper may anymore.

Did I need a paper map to find this new country? Would I have to become my own cartographer?

We traversed a section of wet ground littered with wood after a recent high flow. I liked the way debris looked and knowing that the river had jumped its channel and found some wildness, if only temporary. I wanted to jump my channel, too.

I found a tree, a graceful, old and leaning alder for us to have our lunch. I ate my cheese with Bonnie and Clyde and watched the river churn green and brown. Somewhere, downriver, I knew that new country existed for me. I simply had to keep moving toward it, exploring the only way left me, perhaps with a map of my own devising, but perhaps not.

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