Untitled work of fiction

The house is quiet. My children were gone for the week with their grandparents, and my husband was off fishing for the long weekend. As I finished up the few dishes in the sink, I listened to the quiet. In a house with 3 children, two adults, and a golden retriever named Duffy, quiet was a rare occurrence, and seemed to be screaming at me. Drying my hands, I looked out the windows at the day ahead of me. It was a typical April day in our little town of Crescent Bay, Washington, cool, and a little foggy, but I could see the sun struggling to emerge through the gray skies. Living on the edge of the Olympic forest, less than half a mile from the Pacific Ocean, days like this were what I was used to, what I loved. I gazed across the yard, to the forest beyond, imagining the rustle of flora,  the trees reaching the the skies, creating a safe haven for the various forms of wildlife that called it their home.
I suddenly realized how I wanted to spend my morning. I stood, calling Duffy, and grabbing a light jacket, we went out the back door and started across the yard. The weather was warmer, but still wet, especially in the forest where the sun couldn't quite manage to permeate. I started following the small hiking trail, stepping around fallen trees, watching Duffy run ahead, chasing the birds that rose in a flurry at her approach. Her doggy grin showed that she was enjoying the outing as much as I was, getting out into the fresh air. I could smell the ocean, its salty fragrance mixing with the scent of the trees that surrounded me, relaxing me. As we made our way up the slight incline, I turned and looked back the way we came. I could no longer see the edge of the trees, yet knew exactly where I was, having ventured countless times into these woods. The enormity of being completely immersed in this nature captured me, bringing me peace, yet leaving me breathless as it always does. Hikes into this forest has always been awe inspiring to me, giving me the realization that I was such a small part of a much bigger world, and that the trees and birds and deer were merely willing to share their space with me, instead of the other way around. There is something mysterious and magical about knowing that there is an entire world surrounding you, tolerating you, of which you are unaware even of its existence. Its humbling.
Turning my attention forward again, I called for Duffy. She was no longer in sight. Knowing she would find her way back to me in a minute or two, I pressed on, figuring she must be right up ahead. Beams of sunlight were starting to appear through the branches of the trees, casting an angelic glow on the ground in front of me. Calling for Duffy again, I lowered myself onto the bark of a fallen tree, wondering how far I had walked. It seemed as though I had walked miles, though I figured it had probably only been twenty minutes or so since I left the house. I wished that dog would get back, so we could start making our way back down.
I decided to leave the trail, searching for my companion, yet knowing not to wander far.
"Duffy!" As I called, I could feel the air around me change, and assumed that we were most likely in for another storm. The air turned cooler, and I could feel an almost electric charge to it suddenly. I needed to get home, quick. "Duffy!" I yelled again with more urgency. I couldn't even hear her approaching-it was unusually quiet. I looked around me, desperately, knowing that if she didn't appear soon, I would have to head back without her. I caught a glimpse of something small, dashing through the underbrush, out of the corner of my eye. Probably a rabbit, I figured. Wait-what was that? I crept carefully toward the spot the animal had disappeared, glimpsing something I had never seen before. There appeared to be an overgrown trail here, but it looked as though it was long forgotten. Even though I knew it was probably an old logging trail of some sort, my curiosity got the better of me, and I started slowly picking my way through the foliage to follow it. It led on for about fifty yards, and I could suddenly feel the warmth of the sun again, though I was deep in the forest. Taking off my jacket, and tying it around my waist, I continued following the lost trail, watching the ground, trying to pick it out of the forest floor. When I could no longer see it, I looked up, not knowing how far from my original trail I had ventured. I could see the edge of the trees now, sunlight pouring through the openings in the branches. Figuring I could find my way back easily, I started approaching the light. The closer I got to the end of the trees haven, the more I felt the charge in the air, and somehow I knew that something was about to change.