The sunrise was over by the time I reached the trailhead this morning, but I watched it as I drove. Beautiful. The bold orange streaks of cloud seemed gilded, the golden edges feathering across the baby blue sky. The mountains on the horizon were a lavender silhouette, and the colorful scene evolved, changing hues as the sun rose. Tangerine. Magenta. Pink. Lemon yellow. It was lovely.
I chose the farthest of two trailheads for the park; it’s usually empty. Not this morning, there’s only one parking space left. I get it. It’s a beautiful morning for a hike. The meadow flowers fill the morning air will the scent of Spring. The birds fill the air with their songs and chirps and screeches. The gravel trail crunches beneath my steps. The sunlight illuminates the meadow grass and the leaves of the trees.
I walk and keep walking, until I get to my preferred halfway point and stop to write and reflect. I listen to the sounds of the Tualatin river from my convenient vantage point, reflecting on this and that. Breathe, exhale, relax…
“What’s the point of any of this?” I find myself wondering, and sitting with that thought for awhile. It’s a question. I don’t have an answer, really. I guess there’s a chance that there’s no point at all… We’re born. We live our finite, ordinary, mortal lives. We learn what we can. We accumulate objects and mementos that we will inevitably leave behind. We eventually die. Some of us may make some profound mark on society or advance human progress in some way – most of us won’t. Some few of us will pass on, unremarkable, unremembered, and unnoticed. So… What is the point? I breathe the Spring air deeply, listening to the breeze and the birdsong. Is this enough? Is it enough simply to be?
I think about it for awhile. Even recognizing that the journey itself is the destination, I sometimes do wonder what the actual point of it is… Perhaps there isn’t one. Maybe we simply live and die and there’s no point or purpose at all? If that’s the case, any purpose in life is one we choose for ourselves, each of us, having our own experience, and deciding for ourselves what the point may be. This isn’t a grim thought for me, and it doesn’t cause me any stress or agitation, I just sit here on a Spring morning wondering for myself what that point may be.
There’s time for wonder, and wondering, and asking questions. Maybe that’s even the point? I smile and wave at a passing stranger who calls out a “good morning” as they pass.
It’s a new day. I wonder what I’ll do with it? I wonder where this path leads? I breathe, exhale, and relax. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to head on down the trail and begin again.
Evening Light 