I don’t think of space in the same way as I used to. As children, we need to be constantly watched. In the city, a child will bound into traffic, in the country, toward a precipice in a flash. Thurber, the puppy, will race up the side of blizzard snowbanks, only to plunge a long leg in a soft spot, and, a second later, do the same thing again, as if he has learned the sum total of zero, his life force taking over, the landscape, treacherous or not, a non-consideration, all is subservient to play, in service of adventure, dependent on those who steer him away from the barreling down SUV, the cliff edge, but our purchase on landscape is no superior to his. We must only keep him safe, embracing him as he is.
