Hello, Dawn

June 25, 2026 //
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I woke gently, ahead of my alarm. I freshenened up and dressed for the day, then watered the lawn as I left. It is a pleasant routine and a lovely morning.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I arrived at the trailhead as a beautiful sunrise began, hues of orange and gold quickly evolving to a delicate pearl pink sky. Beautiful.

Well, hello there brand new day!

I head down the path, enjoying the cool morning. Sometimes the path is clear, and the way ahead free of obstacles. Sometimes the walking is easy and my stride relaxed and comfortable. Some days are harder, others easier, and it took me far too long to learn to spend more time, emotional energy, and attention on the moments of joy and delight, however small or brief, than on the difficult moments. Truly, my difficulties generally find a way to get more than their “fair share” of my attention, no effort required. I savor this gentle delightful morning as I walk. I put attention on it, and keep my awareness firmly on “now”. The morning is a delight and I don’t want to miss any of it.

Vineyards along the trail under a pink sky.

I spent much of yesterday evening in my studio, sorting through recent images (and their associated recollections), finding the specific (best?) pictures that captured some detail I knew I wanted to paint. Another significant portion of the evening was spent in my Traveling Partner’s good company, as he showed me his drone and walked me through the features. He gifted me his previous drone, and talked me through basic operation. I even took my first flight! Oh, I’m slow about such things, and we were in the house, so really all I did was start her up,  take flight, and hover awhile, carefully feeling the experience of controlling her in the air. All the while, my Traveling Partner watched me thoughtfully.

… Loving someone with brain damage creates some challenges…

I woke this morning to a loving note from my partner. He’d carefully shopped for a better choice of “beginner drone” for me with features better suited to my limitations (and less likely to potentially injure me under predictable relatively common things that can (do) go awry for beginners). He made some recommendations, and I find myself genuinely excited about it. No particular reason to “go down this path”, beyond the fun of it, and the joy of a shared experience – but there is all of that, and I’m eager.

I grin to myself, feeling very loved this morning. I remind myself to study and take the TRUST test, so I can legally fly my drone.

Each dawn begins a new day. I say it a lot. This morning I’m really feeling the joy in it. There’s another busy work day ahead, but that will happen when the time comes. It needs no attention from me now. I sit contentedly with my thoughts.

There are hard times and good times, and it is pretty easy to miss out on the good times if I allow the hard times and moments of stress to dominate my thoughts beyond the boundaries of those moments. I breathe, exhale, and relax, feeling the pleasant summer morning infuse my consciousness with delight. The oaks stand watch alongside the trail as they always do, and I wonder (again) what their awareness might be like, and whether they have consciousness as I do? It’s not a question I can answer… but I do wonder.

…I think about coffee…

We make a lot of our challenges in life harder than they need to be. Just saying, that’s a very human thing – but we can choose differently. There are verbs involved. Decisions. Will. Action. (Practice.) I smile and watch a bunny on the opposite side of the trail from where I’m sitting. She has slowly come closer, nibbling tasty grasses and watching me for any sign of threatening movement. I sit quite still until she hops away back into the grass. We can choose how we treat those around us. I sit reflecting on how easy such choices seem in the abstract, and how difficult they can feel in the moment.

The clock ticks on. I’m grateful for the lovely gentle morning. I silently wish my beloved well, from the side of the trail, hoping his night was as good as mine, his sleep as restful, and his morning as full of effortless joy. Maybe it will be? Maybe it won’t be. Either way, I hope he knows he is loved. I look at the time. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Another Early Morning

June 24, 2026 //
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… Like, stupid early, and here I am awake, with an unfortunate “go f* yourself” feeling at the moment. It’ll pass. I’m just awake ridiculously early. Too early to get coffee, not too early to walk in the dark moodily, vexed by the circumstances.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

It’s still dark when I reach my halfway point and stop. It looks like a winter morning, but it’s pleasantly mild (15C/60F). Daybreak soon. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I definitely need the calming, self-soothing benefits of meditation this morning, after being abruptly startled awake by my Traveling Partner yelling, rhetorically, “Why can’t I just sleep?!” or something very like that. I don’t have an answer for him.

I sit with my thoughts, and this slice of peace here in the darkness.

Eventually, the night sky takes on a hint of deep blue. To the east, I see a streak of lighter blue, hinting at the sunrise to come. A new day.

In spite of yesterday’s fatigue, after struggling to find restful sleep (after being awakened in the wee hours), the day went well enough. I called it a night a little early and slept restfully. This morning’s unfortunately stressful start at least begins my day with enough sleep. Work itself should be routine. I scrounge around the groggy corners of my mind trying to recall things I may have committed to doing in addition to work, hoping to avoid forgetting something I’ve been asked to do. I’d like today to be a good one.

I stretch and yawn and watch the eastern horizon change colors. I wonder what the day holds? I answer pings from my partner. I think about coffee.

… I think about beginning again.

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Categories anger, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

A Headache and Insomnia

June 23, 2026 //
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I woke too early. I didn’t get enough sleep. I’ve got a wicked headache, my eyeballs feel like they are sandpapered, and my skin “feels uncomfortable”. My neck aches from waking twisted and alarmed in the wee hours. I never went soundly to sleep after that, but I catnapped a bit between strange dreams filled with dread and doubt and “exploding head” nightmares.

… It’s a very human experience.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I watered the lawn thoroughly; it’s expected to be another fiercely hot day. I headed for the trail at daybreak and arrived in time to greet the dawn, which glows like an infected cut, hues of red and orange along the horizon.

Mostly beautiful and a bit inspiring.

I’m irritable and out of sorts, cross with myself, my circumstances, and even this moment. I’ll get over it, I’m sure. I’m more resilient than I once was. For now, though, I am in no mood for… people. Or anything. I don’t want conversation. I don’t want to share space. I don’t want an exchange of ideas nor any kind of shared experience. I just want to be left alone to be irritable in peace, until it passes.

… I am recognizably not my best self this morning…

Maybe after work I’ll just retreat to my studio and paint moody landscapes of sunrises and sunsets, counting on the vibrant colors to distract viewers from the dark shapes silhouetted against the sky?

… G’damn I’m cranky…

I definitely needed more (better) sleep. My Traveling Partner wasn’t sleeping well either. He was having trouble breathing – possibly the worst way to not sleep. He seemed to have found sleep at some point; he wasn’t awake when I finally just got up. I tried not to make noise as I dressed and left. I didn’t want to be any part of waking him again, before he had gotten the rest he needs.

I smile for a moment, recalling the unexpected gift of a couple books I haven’t read, which my beloved gave me yesterday. I feel loved when I think of them. The feeling lasts as long as the thought does; I try to hold on to it, with limited success.

I love the feeling of a new book in my hands.

I sigh to myself at the halfway point on my walk. Fucking hell it’s going to take so much coffee to push me through the day, today. I could do without this fucking headache, too.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take a few moments of this quiet morning for meditation. My routine tends to help me past most of life’s difficult bits these days. It’s not perfect, as solutions go, but it’s better than nothing. I glare moodily at the rising sun. I don’t feel like dealing with the heat, but “not dealing with it” isn’t really an option that reality provides. It is what it is. I’ve got a bottle of water with me, half finished already. Letting myself get dehydrated would be stupid, particularly since I’ve already got this headache.

I sigh heavily, feeling my discontent like a weight on my shoulders. I look down the trail with a somber acknowledgement;  I walked this far, now I’ve got to finish it. Shit. I get to my feet feeling impatient with myself and vaguely angry. I’ll have to begin again. Maybe it will help.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Feels Like Summer

June 22, 2026 //
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No surprise that it feels like summer, I suppose; it is. What is more surprising is that we’ve got another extreme heat warning for our area (two already this year). I guess we’re fortunate. It’s only expected to be in the 90’s.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

An orange dawn greets me at the trailhead.

I head down the trail with a song in my head. I mostly don’t mind summertime, but it isn’t my favorite. I do have a lot of nostalgic feelings about summer. Memories of hot summer mornings, stifling humidity, swimming lessons, icy cold root beer or sweet tea on the screened-in back porch, and fireflies at twilight fill my thoughts as I walk. I have recollections of so many sticky sleepless nights, and the sweet relief of the cold flowing from the window AC when we were permitted to use it.

This is a very different time and place in my life. My feet carry me past towering oaks until the trail turns to wrap around the vineyard. I get to my halfway point and take a seat on a log left behind after a fallen tree was cut up and hauled away. I wonder, again, why this section was left behind? Doesn’t really matter, it’s a good spot to sit, to write, meditate, and welcome a new day.

The weekend was a thoroughly pleasant one. I didn’t paint but the studio is now set up for it, and I feel as if I could step into the studio at any time on any day and begin to work. It’s a nice feeling. It will require some changes of habit and timing to make skillful use of the opportunity. That’s fine. Life doesn’t stand still. Change is.

After some time passes, I realize that my mind has wandered far away to camping trips and plein air painting. I’d ideally like to go somewhere that presents me with huge vistas and open skies, maybe the high desert down south a ways, or some mountainside with views of hills beyond hills… Do I really want to camp, or just drive far with my camera, stopping for viewpoints and short hikes to see sights? There are so many beautiful and interesting things to see on this continent. I don’t have to go far to see something new or wonderful – Oregon is big. I haven’t yet seen it all.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I pull myself back to this moment, here, now. The work day will begin shortly, but that time is not now. This moment, here, in the early morning summer sunshine, is mine. I watch the sunlight illuminate the tops of the oaks, slowly reaching the edges of the grape vines. I contentedly sit, watching the changing light. (I admit, it doesn’t take much to entertain me.) I’m grateful to have this moment of solitude and joy, satisfied to watch a sunrise. Grateful to have another mortal day.

I take a breath, and then another. I soak in the beauty of the morning, before the heat of the day settles in. It is a deliciously pleasant moment, in spite of pain (which isn’t too bad this morning), in spite of tinnitus (which is shrieking loudly in my ears), in spite of the (likely to be) busy work day ahead. I’m okay with all of it. I’m feeling relaxed and unbothered. I feel like summer. 😆

I smile to myself and stretch. The trail is bathed in golden morning light. Beautiful. I squint towards the rising sun and get to my feet. It’s time to begin again – a new day is waiting for me.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

A Disney Moment

June 21, 2026 //
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I got a slow start this morning, in spite of waking quite early and heading to the trail I had selected before dawn. It was a sort of “Disney moment” that caused me to pause and sit awhile, before heading down the trail.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I had pulled in to the empty parking lot at the trailhead just at sunrise on an overcast summer morning. As I was gathering my thoughts, a bunny appeared from the brush and tall grass. Then another.

Slow down, see things differently.

Then a squirrel darted into view. A robin landed on a nearby rock. Rather than disturb them all, I sat quiet and still, just watching. Slowly, a stately young buck stepped into the clearing, and two does followed as he passed by, gazing calmly at me as he walked past quite close. A young northern flicker lands on the gate post near my parked car.

Where are you putting your attention? In the real world, or on a screen?

How could I create chaos in this idyllic scene by barging about noisily as human primates often do? I couldn’t. So I sat awhile listening to birdsong and watching a variety of creatures that call this place home just living their lives at the edge of this trail, between forest and meadow along the bank of the Willamette River. What a beautiful moment! I could so easily have missed all of it if I’d been walking through life with my eyes on a screen. How much are you missing because you’ve got your phone in your hand?

… I’m not criticizing your choices with regard to what you are putting your attention on. That’s a you thing. Do you. I’m just aware – and noticing – how much I could be missing of this lovely moment, if I had rushed through it, or been focused on my phone instead of the world around me. It isn’t the first time I’ve given this some thought.

There is more and more research available that supports concerns that our device use is degrading our cognitive abilities and critical thinking skills, and making us dependent on “helpful” tech, so I’m definitely not alone in my concern that my phone (and more modern LLM tools) has the very real potential to degrade my experience, my ability to be present, and my attention to the real physical world around me.

…I made the drive over here without my GPS, to avoid losing my sense of direction and ability to navigate without a device; I’m taking this stuff quite seriously…

…I happily put my phone down (after stealthily snapping a couple pictures) to watch bunnies and robins and squirrels and quail and deer and wildflowers swaying in a soft summer breeze. I wouldn’t want to miss this moment. Would you?

A quiet moment on a summer morning, well-suited to contemplation.

What a lovely moment to enjoy! I haven’t even begun my hike yet. 😆 I grab my cane and my water bottle. The trail is waiting for me, and it’s time to begin, again.

Choose your path and walk it.
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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words
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