That morning, when I found the note laid flat on the path, we’d made it about a mile into the woods.Ĭharlie did not slow or tilt his head or even lower his nose to the ground to sniff. We’d cross the dirt road and trudge up the slow rise and fall of a little hill, and weave our way back and forth through the birches. Since the thaw, Charlie had been waking me up every morning at daybreak. On foggy mornings, the birches completely disappeared in the mist. The slim white trees had been nearly invisible against the snow. We’d worn it down all spring, summer, and fall, but abandoned it during winter. I’d discovered the path the previous spring just after Charlie and I had moved to Levant. I happened upon it on my dawn walk through the birch woods with my dog, Charlie. There was just the note on the ground, rustling at my feet in the soft May wind. No tangle of hair caught on the coarse fallen branches, no red wool scarf damp with morning dew festooned across the bushes.
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