once upon a time, in the wild of northern michigan, there lived a very large puppy named atlas.

one morning, atlas went outside to find the whole world covered in white. he shivered a little. the white was wet and cold on his paws. for a moment, he wondered what had happened to his green grass. but then he saw his bush and went about his business and, when he went back inside, he forgot all about it.

every day, the white seemed to grow until soon, it was taller than atlas.

one day, atlas was taking his person for a walk when he smelled something under the white.

it smelled furry.

atlas dug in the white with one paw.

nothing.

he dug in the white with two paws.

nothing.

atlas dug more deeply, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, both paws moving as fast as they could go, until there was a large hole in front of him.

he stuck his nose in the hole. oh, the smell of fur was strong now!

atlas dug again, furiously, until all of a sudden, the ground collapsed and he fell nose-first into a large dry tunnel.

{to be continued in the story club}

atlas says:

“i have been waiting and waiting and waiting. if you won’t come out of the snow, i will come in after you, but i will not like it.”

“arrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooooooooo! the snow is too deep and i am too tired. i am done with this nonsense.”

“i am king of the world!”

“i seem to have turned myself sideways. this hill is more confusing than i thought. i think i will be done now.”

“hey there. i have been waiting and waiting and waiting so i’m just checking up on you.”

“good. you’re still there. you will have to get out on your own. i am going away now.”

(yes, atlas is still alive and well. it’s been so cold lately that he is in full-on hibernation mode. as he told you already, he is very sensible.)

on monday, i helped my dad shovel. it was seven degrees below zero and the wind chill factor made it much much colder, but i was bundled up and happy to be outside and moving.

usually, atlas calmly watches me shovel from the window. that day, he did not. he barked and barked and barked. i heard his (extremely loud) bark through the walls.

finally, i let him come outside. he ran around me a few times, nipped at my mitten, then went to the garage door. i brought him inside, then came back out to shovel.

i figured that was the end of it. he saw what i was doing; he remembered that he didn’t want to be outside; he would calmly watch or take a nap. but no, he barked and barked and barked some more.

later that day, something occurred to me.

when he barked, what if he was saying, “it’s too cold! come in! come in! come in!”

when he nipped at my mitten, what if he was trying to pull me inside.

oh, atlas. here you were trying to take care of me and keep me safe, and i didn’t even listen.

on the solstice, my sister, atlas, and i went to the lake.

the last time i was there – this fall – i walked down the stairs, walked a few feet over the sand and jewel-colored lake superior rocks, and found the waves lapping at the water’s edge.

now, after weeks of cold and snow, everything has changed.

the colors are different.

everything is white and grey-blue and black and grey.

the landscape is different too.

huge waves of ice and snow have built up, transforming the beach and the lake into an icy wintry playground.

we walked to the edge and looked down at a ledge of icicles that cascaded into the water below.

of course, atlas walked to the edge too.

i wish i could say that i was the sort of person who trusted her puppy and watched him calmly and serenely.

alas, i am not.

i sounded more like this: “oh! oh! oh! watch out! don’t fall in the water! stay back! oh! oh!”

(i am pretty sure that if atlas ever does fall into the lake, it will be because i startle him, not because he slips.)

it’s been a long time since i saw this side of the lake i love so very much.

she might look icy and cold, and she might crackle and sting and bite, but there is an exhilarating loving warmth to her just the same.

(i suspect the same can be said for all of us.)

all of it – the company and the colors and the landscape – made for a perfect way to celebrate the return of the light.

p.s. if you love the wild places, or if you want to experience winter through a lens of beauty + magic + wonder, join me in january as i find the beauty in the cold and the dark and the snow.

happy christmas, if you celebrate.

merry wednesday, if you don’t.

either way, here is a dose of merriment from atlas and me. we hope that you enjoy it.

it has been snowing since last wednesday.

when i look outside, or walk out the front door, i wonder if we are getting all our winter snow in one fell swoop, or if people feel discouraged as they shovel, knowing that the ground they clear will soon be covered by a blanket of new snow.

on sunday, the wind died down for a bit, and my sister and i took atlas for a walk before dinner.

it was a balmy one degree outside.

the sky was white. the trees were white. the ground was white.

the freshly fallen snow blanketed the earth with the sound of silence.

the evergreen branches sank toward the ground under the weight of the snow.

the unbroken path whispered, “come. you are welcome. come.”

atlas caught a scent of something under the snow and spent a few happy minutes trying to uncover it.

unfortunately, he also got too cold – i am still learning about dogs and winter – and he spent the rest of the day wrapped in blankets in front of the heater.

the wintry walk inspired a joyful exhilaration, a clarity of focus, an appreciation for the austere.

and as we walked along the trail toward home, the trees sang their noiseless song of rich deep wisdom and knowing.

“we are here. you are here. all is well.”

here, it is the night before thanksgiving.

as i write this, there is a candy cane candle burning and a puppy sleeping.

the snow has been falling softly all day and the world is covered in a fluffy blanket of white.

today included a snowy walk with the pup and games with my family. tomorrow, there will be turkey, for me and for atlas.

this thanksgiving, i am feeling grateful to be here, now. this year has been hard for me. one of my hardest years ever. but it has taught me (is teaching me) so very much.

here, all is well.

this thanksgiving, i wish you warmth, wonder, and a soft place to land if/when you need one. also flying puppy ears, because they make everything better.

i was almost asleep after a midnight potty run for atlas – half in dreamland, half out, disoriented and groggy and heavy – when he got off the bed and began to pace back and forth between the bed and the door.

(the door to this room is always closed – it’s a cat-free zone – so he needs me to open the door.)

atlas paces when he needs a potty run, but he had just gone, so i was sure he didn’t have to go again.

he also paces when his stomach is bothering him and he needs to vomit, but this is always accompanied by a very vocal stomach and his was silent, so i was pretty sure it wasn’t that either.

back and forth, back and forth, he paced.

atlas came over to me – when he wants me to do something, he stands in front of me and tries to communicate with his eyes – and i felt a spark of anger burst into flame and i whisper-yelled at him to “go and lie down”.

he jumped on the bed, then jumped off.

back and forth, back and forth. atlas stares, elizabeth whisper-yells. jump on, jump off.

repeat, repeat, repeat.

finally, i grumpily and noisily got up and brought atlas outside into the cold, snowy night.

he walked over to the snow-covered grass, then came back to me.

oh, was i furious.

i whisper-yelled “we are not going inside until you go to the bathroom” and pushed him toward the grass. atlas walked to the grass, came back to me, and looked up at me sadly.

i did not relent. i whisper-yelled again and pushed him toward the grass. he walked to the grass, came back to me, and looked at the ground.

repeat, repeat.

finally, still upset, i opened the garage door and let him inside.

while i was wiping the snow off his feet, i woke up.

i wasn’t really mad at atlas.

i was frustrated. atlas’s needs and movements often interrupt my sleep, even more so since we arrived here, and sometimes i just really really need/want a few solid hours of sleep.

i was worried about atlas. he has been sick quite a bit since we got here. what if he was too old and the move was too hard on him. he was doing so well, and now he’s not. what if it’s all my fault.

as soon as we entered the house, i realized that something was wrong.

atlas’s back was arched, his belly was large and tender, and he walked through the kitchen with his head close to the floor like he was going to vomit.

i spent the rest of the night taking care of him.

i spent the next day taking care of him.

all the while, i berated myself. because i was mean to atlas at all. because i was mean to him when he was sick and needed me.

but then, later that evening, something occurred to me: i was mean to atlas for maybe fifteen minutes.

fifteen minutes.

i saw his whole life, with the moments i was unkind to him – the moments that feature in my thoughts often, when i am berating myself for things i’ve done wrong – next to the moments i was loving and kind.

when i saw the lifetime of moments, i was filled with so much tenderness and forgiveness for myself.

i am human. i am imperfect. i am going to make mistakes. i am going to have moments when i wish i had behaved differently.

i know those moments seem so awful to me, so far from how i want to behave, that surely they must outweigh the whole.

maybe sometimes they do.

i want to be able to forgive myself for them anyway.

i also saw that sometimes i do the same thing to others: i let moments of unkindness overshadow a relationship full of love.

and of course i would. i do it to myself.

i just hope that as time goes on, it takes less and less time to find my perspective.

atlas and i are sharing a twin bed at the moment.

you can probably guess how humorous this is and how well i sleep. (in theory, it should work, only atlas has no concept of personal space. he never has. he stretches out and takes up all the space available.)

sometimes i try to sleep on a different bed, but when he’s not feeling well (which has been more often than usual as he recovers from the move), he sleeps better when i’m right there next to him.

the other night, the funniest thing happened.

atlas was chasing a fox that turned into a white tiger and then they fought and the tiger drew blood. i was running back to my little cabin in the woods, followed by atlas who was now being chased by the tiger – thinking through how i would get inside and let atlas in without letting the tiger in – when i rolled over and fell off the bed.

i woke up on my hands and knees on the floor.

oh, did i laugh.

somewhere in dreamland, that tiger is probably still chasing poor atlas.