The track reaches a fork, and the dog is always excited when I whistle her to take the left. We headed down the hill, eventually leaving the sun behind and entering the shade of the valley. The colour is always different there. I stopped by the little river and watched the trout facing into the flow, tails wafting side to side. I realised I could hear a creaking tree. I hadn't noticed that there was enough breeze to make it move, but it creaked nonetheless, like a door opening onto another, alternative, place.
The track continues on and climbs the hill again. I saw the sun once more, flickering through the trees. I noticed how unfamiliar everything seemed, lit from this golden angle. How different everything felt, too. The morning light announces the start of something.
When I walk the dog in the morning at this time of year, as I climb the last of the hills, I can feel the heat of the coming day on my back. At this time of the day I could feel the cool of the night.
A kiss in the sky