Usually, the woods bring out my youth and always have. But today, I’m 65 and admit to feeling it a bit — you know — my age. The woods have always been a place to deliberately feel young; the invigorating hike, the chaste air. And with nothing yet in season, I can bring along a scrambling hound. But today, Audrey, who’s turning toward 9 years old, seems agreeable to a more casual pace, even stopping for a few seconds to sit next to me while I pause for a breather. That’s opposed to the crazy pup that grew into her years racing blissfully about and tearing the hillside up as if time might be pliable. But now look at her: round, bubbly eyes engulfing me, panting tongue contentedly pulsating, aging…
