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A Sample Reading from
Glade Run Press
$20.95
From "Among the Aspens" by David Webb
I reflect on the silent whisper of
the autumn breeze. It comes mixed with the turning of the aspen leaves to golden
yellow. I stop, listen, and watch the pieces of gold as they dance with the
slightest whisper of wind.
Several times a year I visit this
little grove of quaking aspens. There are eight or ten trees still standing
where once there was twice that number. Twenty years ago a bulldozer cleared an
adjacent woodlot area for a small housing development. The windbreak was lost to
the aspen covert, and over the next few years many of the trees were uprooted.
There are several new aspens in
the grove that have sprouted or germinated from seed. The buds of the young
trees provide a rich nutrient source for the grouse. Here in western
Pennsylvania aspens tend to not be as long-lived compared to the majestic
northern red oaks.
My tranquil walk through the
aspens is often when the golden yellow shower of leaves is falling to the ground
from the overhead branches. I like to hear the leaves rustle in the breeze and
the soft sound as each leaf lands on the covert's floor. I'll stand motionless
and gently move the golden yellow pieces with my boot.
* * *
I reverie about an
orange-and-white Brittany that moved quickly through these golden leaves, and
then whirled on point. The grouse appeared to be pinned. The dog with his head
and short stub tail held high. Rocky was gathering in the scent to locate the
bird. His feet never moved, as he seemed to lean into and then back again
slightly from the grouse scent. The point was solid.
Taking several steps, I moved past
the motionless Brittany and then the wings of thunder erupted. There was no
twelve-gauge double in the hand to follow the bird's flight, as it was two weeks
before the opening day of grouse season. At fifteen months Rocky was not steady
to wing. His pursuit of the bird was not much beyond the aspen covert.
Within a minute or two he was back
at my side. I talked to him softly, telling him "what a good pup he
was". I rubbed his ears, stoked his back and ribs --
The trance was broken as several
leaves bounced from my uplifted face. I stood near the hallowed ground, beneath
which the Brittany had been placed, wrapped in his blanket with his collar still
in place. He could have undoubtedly had many years in our grouse and woodcock
coverts. I then looked down and stared at the aspen leaves. They became cloudy
as I reflected on the Brittany's first grouse point among the aspens.
Click HERE for a look at the back cover.
Updated 01/16/2004
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