Mid-morning and the air is cool. Most of the trees are leafless, except for a few Red Oaks that are lying on the ground and small groups of young Beech. The leaves are spread out sporadically on the damp forest floor and the only sounds are the wind blowing high over the tree tops and chiming of a bell fading in and out as it approaches closer then turns away. Occasionally the sleek figure of a silky white and orange specter floats ahead and disappears as the bell becomes louder then slowly fades in to the distance. Heavy boot clad feet follow behind the monotonous ringing and miles of wooded acreage are left behind.
The clouds open and narrow rays of sunlight filter through and highlight various leaves, limbs and stones. All is peaceful and only the fluttering wings of resident birds can be heard as they flit from branch to branch in search of breakfast. As the coarse cawing of a distant Raven disturbs the sleepy atmosphere and the tree tops go still against the gray sky something is amiss. Now the hunt begins.
The last place that the bell was heard was up the hillside to the right. Its faint dinging was barely evident as it reached the limits of its range.Its best not to head right to it and the wind is drifting in from ahead so an upward course behind the suspected area makes a good choice. A small detour around the tearing greenbriers leads to a meander through the maze of small trees protruding from the leaf covered ground. After the short hike up the hillside and scanning the ground in all directions no dog is sighted and the search continues across the hillside and in to the wind. Ahead the suspended clusters of Beech leaves signal good cover to find a staunch Setter and the trek continues. Still no dog! Below similar cover lengthens the hike and a slow and methodical circle is made back to the Beech thicket with out a find. A steep bank to the Pine strewn bench above now seems to be the only choice.
A tightening chest resonates the tapping beat of the pounding heart as breaths reach far in to the brisk mountain air. Between the darkness of the coniferous clumps lie laurel patches and black puddles and all is bordered by various heights of Birch, Cherry and Oak. Lines of the leafy birches separate the cloned sections of forest that border the drop to the previous bench and game trails radiate out across the bench in every direction. As the trip continues angst prevails, the pace quickens and alternatives are considered.
There! Up ahead in the smaller shrubbery the bench tapers off in to the hill side. This is where to turn and head back. This is where to take a break and maybe give a few taps on the whistle. Nah! Relax, she's somewhere here. A look behind on the hillside above proves worthless, but was worth a chance. Over the edge to the slope choked thick with vines and thin branches is an eye strain and with focus comes clarity and the awaited picture. Head held high and tail slightly turned up she waits. Reliably and trusting she waits while signaling the game ahead. The smooth brush strokes brighten her against the drab surrounding colors and the picture is finished and infinitely placed in the private gallery. What happens from here is vital, yet lacking in comparison to the climactic find at the end of the search. The steady whistle of the wind, gray skies, the silencing of a bell, amenities of the day on the way to finding the worth in it all.
