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The Oak and The Rose

May 29, 2026 //
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It’s early. A Spring morning on the edge of summer. The air is mild and the weather report confirms what my sinus headache already told me; the pollen counts are notable, and tree pollen, it suggests, is mostly oak. Well okay then, it could be worse. In the twilight of dawn just after daybreak, I can see that the meadow around the vineyard has been mowed. That’s probably not helping with this headache. I sigh to myself as I grab my cane and a spare pack of tissues, and step out of the car.

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

Oaks trees line the trail under a cloudy sky.

I reach my halfway point feeling fairly certain I’d meant to be thinking other thoughts this morning. I may have had a clear topic or theme in mind. Doesn’t seem so now. I give in to the moment, set my device aside and meditate, instead.

My reverie is broken some time later by farm workers arriving to begin work in the vineyard nearest to the trail. This is followed a bit of a breeze, and a sneezing fit. The oaks stand tall and steady, unmoved by the hint of a breeze – or my sneezing.

I find myself wondering what this stand of old oaks has seen over the years. The oaks live long lives (or at least have that potential, though it’s likely very few reach truly advanced years these days), longer lives than ours. What might it be like to stand unmoved for hundreds of years as events unfold around me, quietly observing as changes come and go? That’s a whole lot of calm presence, and a reminder that mostly the upheaval or chaos of a given moment isn’t all that significant in the context of decades of time passing. Let time pass. Let small stuff stay small. I can choose the steady presence and long perspective of the oak to guide me down my path.

I smile to myself, thinking about the oaks that line the trail here, and the roses blooming in my garden. The deer nibble my roses, and this years blossoms are smaller, a timid second try after the large plump rose buds that came first were eaten by hungry does heavy with unborn fawns. The roses face that challenge with impressive resilience, putting out new shoots, branches, and buds, again and again after each visit.

The newest rose in the garden (Orange Honey) finally blooms.

I haven’t figured out how to discourage the deer without some sort of sturdy fence, but I’m barely trying, really. I have mixed feelings about it. I enjoy my roses. I enjoy seeing the deer. We’ve achieved an unsteady balance; they eat my roses in the early Spring each year, I enjoy the deer sightings, and by summer the roses are free to enjoy growing and blooming because the deer have moved on, to wherever they go.

I sit awhile reflecting on the resilience of the roses in my garden.

Nozomi blooming among the weeds.

There is a rose in my garden the deer don’t touch. “Nozomi” grows quite low to the ground and her long rambling canes reach out into the flower bed, and across the stepping stone on the short path between the front garden and lawn, and the side yard heading to the back deck. Her long canes are covered in hard sharply pointed thorns that easily tear flesh. She is the last rose I weed every time I get around to that task. 😆 The deer don’t bother with her tiny buds, pearl pink in the undergrowth, protected by thorns.

… Roses may seem fancy, but really they’re just sticker bushes with lovely flowers…

I fell in love with roses reluctantly, while living in Texas. The house we had moved into had three monstrously overgrown red roses that obscured the big front window, and a row of red miniature roses along the back fence. Knowing little and caring less, we cut the front roses down to size as if they were hedge shrubs. The minis in the back? My then-husband just mowed over them, cutting them to the ground. It seemed likely that would be the end of them, they were not thriving as it was. Within weeks, the front roses were covered in new buds and the minis in the back became a row of healthy new canes protruding from the lawn.

I didn’t expect such resilience from the roses… I thought they were some kind of fancy fussy thing, too much work to bother with. I was wrong. I was captivated.

Military life doesn’t lend itself reliably well to the permanence required for a rose to thrive. It would be years before I lived somewhere that I could plant roses. It would in fact be 1995 before I began planting roses in my yard, only to face having to move again too soon to see the outcome. I began keeping potted roses, miniatures mostly, and they moved with me from place to place over years until my beloved Traveling Partner and I bought our little house in 2020. Nozomi was one of the potted roses I’d had the longest (24 years). It was a joyful moment to plant her in the ground at long last.

I sit awhile longer, still, like the oaks trees nearby. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s another day. I contemplate the garden of my heart and consider the resilience of the rose and the steadfast calm of the oak. We become what we practice. We can choose the practices that create the person we most wish to become. As with any garden, there is weeding and watering to be done. I sigh contentedly to myself. Another work day ahead, but that time is not now, and this moment is mine.

… Where does wisdom come from? I find myself distracted by the question. It isn’t found in book learning. It isn’t an easily teachable thing, is it? Any real wisdom we gain as individuals, we develop within ourselves, from our experiences over time, self-reflection, and contemplation of our mistakes and successes, and consideration of the outcomes of each (which aren’t reliably good in any case). We choose a path and walk it. Gaining wisdom isn’t a given. I wonder where this path leads? What wisdom may develop along the way? I don’t look for the answer and let my thoughts wander on…

I watch the dawn become this new day. The oaks watch with me. We are each having our own experience. I breathe the Spring air, grateful that my allergy medication has eased my headache, and get to my feet. The clock is ticking and it’s time to begin again.

Seems to be very effective so far… probably doesn’t hurt that the path is mine, and that I choose it myself.
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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words

The Weeds In My Garden

May 12, 2026 //
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My garden is not perfectly tidy, in manicured precise rows of flowers and shrubs. Not in real life, and definitely not metaphorically. lol I am a lazy rather haphazard, sloppy, somewhat careless gardener. It’s a problem, sometimes.

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

“Cranesbill”, a common weed around here. It’s a wild geranium.

“Weeds” and wildflowers share one differentiating characteristic; whether or not they are growing in one’s garden or lawn, or out in the wild somewhere. 😆 Cranesbill cropping up in the lawn is vexing, and I’ve been ripping it out of my garden when I see it, too. The other day I saw it thriving in a corner of a flower bed full of native wildflowers at the local university and it struck me quite differently. I’ve decided to let it thrive in my flowerbed, to attract native bees and pollinators to my garden. Maybe also in recognition of how many of my own “flaws” are more than a little dependent on situations and circumstances (or other people) to define them as such. It’s worth thinking about. Who do you, yourself, most want to be? What grows in your “garden”?

… It’s a good metaphor…

We become what we practice. The qualities we nurture in ourselves and in others tend to become the qualities that define our groups and communities. What path are you on? What are you encouraging in those around you? What weeds are you pulling out – and what wildflowers do you encourage? What defines the difference?

I sit at my halfway point on this trail. Quite likely a bit past the halfway point in my life, too. 63 this year. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I don’t get everything right all the time, but I know a beautiful flower when I see one, and I recognize a beautiful sunrise on a Spring morning. That counts for something.

Softly, as in a morning sunrise…

I sit with the moment for some little while, noticing that the cranesbill here along the trail hasn’t yet flowered, and wondering about the difference in timing between that and those growing in the university flowerbed. I think about the weeds in my own garden. Most of the weeds are lawn grass encroaching on the flowerbed or trying to survive in the raised beds where I grow vegetables (a byproduct of carelessly strewn grass seed by the Anxious Adventurer). Funny how much the location and circumstances matter to how weeds are defined. I think about it awhile.

The sun rises without any help from me. Another day begins. There are new choices and opportunities ahead, and new chances to tend my garden with care, considering each flower and each weed in context. Pulling the weeds keeps the garden tidy and beautiful – and yes, it’s a metaphor. It’s not always clear which are weeds and which are flowers. “Choose wisely,” I remind myself, and then I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, Words

A Greater Good

May 3, 2026 //
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I’m sitting alongside this trail on a peculiarly misty morning. It is Spring. The day is expected to be quite a hot one (32C/90F).  The full moon was setting as I drove to the trailhead. By the time I had arrived, daybreak had become a smudgy deep orange on the horizon, edged in a strangely angry looking red.

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

The stillness and the mist hint at hidden mysteries.

By the time I reached this spot, the morning was awash in misty pinks and hues of lavender. Pretty. A magical sort of fairytale sunrise envelopes me as I sit here, part of the landscape for a distant photographer in the blind on the edge of the marsh. I find myself hoping my presence doesn’t ruin her shot.

A new day, with new opportunities.

I am thinking about whether (and how) my choices individually can contribute to, or detract from, a greater good. I know that my words and actions have that potential. I mull over choices I’ve made in life without any regard for the effect on others. I reflect on choices I’ve made with attention and consideration of how they would affect others in my life and beyond.  I’m not sure why it’s on my mind this morning. Something leftover from my dreams, maybe. I wonder how many people really give any thought to whether a particular decision they are on the cusp of making will tend to benefit a greater good, or undermine it? Does it matter “in the bigger picture”?

Here is an interesting thought exercise about decision making and the greater good; imagine you have received an especially good job offer. The pay is fantastic (more than you were looking for many times over, an almost unimaginable sum of money), with equally exceptional benefits. It’s yours for the taking, but with the explicit understanding that in accepting this job offer, one reliable outcome would be that a notable percentage of the population would be…fired. No jobs left for them at all. Your own community and friends and colleagues, and numerous strangers, directly affected. They’ll be without income and without adequate resources. You have no power to change that outcome. Do you take the job? Do you serve your own needs exclusively, even knowing how it will affect others, or do you refuse to do that kind of harm for your own gain?

…I promise you, a disturbing number of seemingly “good people” would take the job. Would you?

Greed is some nasty toxic shit. Human primates are very vulnerable to greed. “More” and “better” are seriously tempting for most of us. Weirdly, it also appears that the more/better we acquire in life, the less we seem inclined to consider the greater good, and whether what satisfies our greed may come at a cost for humanity itself. Aggressively nihilist billionaires are fucking terrifying; they have nearly infinite resources, and genuinely don’t care about humanity at all. They’ve chosen themselves and their own satisfaction over any sort of greater good so many times, it has become easy to destroy what everyone else needs to survive.

I sigh to myself. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s beautiful here, now. I sit awhile, reflecting on life, and on choices. I planted tomato plants in my veggie garden, and gave them plenty of room in the raised bed. I put cages around them, more to protect them from the deer in some small way, than to support them. I think I’ll plant carrots and radishes in the adjacent space. I remind myself to water the yard when I get home, feeling rather stupid that I forgot to do that before I left. I add an alarm to my phone to remind me to water the lawn and garden beds early each morning, until it becomes a habit. I like not having to bother with that – but there is a greater good involved; the plants need the water in the heat of summer. Best to have the habit of it before summer heat arrives.

… And what about the other uses of the finite resource that is water? People, livestock, nature, agriculture… What is the greatest good for the greatest number? Where does individual responsibility really begin and end, and responsibility to community, society, or the world become the critical detail? I sit swinging my feet, and watching the sun rise. Once, a long time ago, someone told me I think too much. I smile to myself. I tend to think that most people (within my limited knowledge of people more generally) think too little. People seem oddly disinclined to take time for just sitting and thinking. Too busy. 😆 That seems unfortunate; there is so much to think about.

What will you do with it? Where does your path lead?

I breathe in the fragrance of Spring, exhaling as I hop down from my perch on the fence rail. The sun is rising into the clear blue sky. The clock is ticking. There are things to do, and it feels like a good time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, Words

Birds and Blue Skies

April 16, 2026 //
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I slept well and deeply, woke gently, on time more or less, and made my way to the trail for my morning miles without any fuss. I think I even managed to avoid waking my beloved Traveling Partner on my way out. The day begins well.

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

In the distance, clouds, hills, a horizon.

As my steps carry me along the path, I notice the distant mountain foothills have snowy patches, partially obscured by low clouds clinging to the hillsides. Instead of blue sky above, more clouds. Even nearby, the weather seems less like the Spring I expect, and more like late winter in the Pacific Northwest. It’s cold, too. 1°C, very nearly freezing. The path is slick and frosty. There are little birds everywhere. They don’t seem to mind the chilly morning.

Here and there, blue sky peeks through the clouds, like a promise. Everything looks green and ready for warmer days. This chilly morning was unexpected, but not wildly outside the obvious possibilities, for the area. I was less than ideally well prepared, this morning. I walk briskly to my halfway point, hands jammed into warm pockets. I sit on a cold bench at my halfway point, pausing my writing now and then to warm my hands again before I continue. I’m okay with it.

My fingernails are a shimmery shade of blue that seems fitting for reflecting this sky on this cold morning, and I smile each time I see them. Getting a manicure is a treat, and I was a bit overdue. I like my new manicurist, too. She does beautiful work, and makes pleasant conversation.

What do you see when you look?

The tangle of oaks overhead seem as if they have captured the cotton candy pink of the dawn sky in their branches. I feel merry in spite of the chilly weather. Another work day ahead. I’m eager for warmer days and long afternoons in the garden. The deer have begun wandering through each night, eating the tender shoots and new growth from the tops of all the roses. I’m glad I didn’t hustle to get starts planted! Between the cold and the deer it would have been a wasted effort.

I think about that for some little while; the idea that practicing non-attachment, and taking a more relaxed approach to getting things done sometimes allows me to out wait some vexing circumstance, and move on more easily, isn’t a new idea. It is the “wait and see” approach on of many relaxed people. Low stress. Low drama. I’ll still get the garden planted, probably this weekend when I also have time to put together the fence I’ve planned, hoping to keep the deer from also eating my garden (as they did last year). Maybe rose cages for early Spring, next?

The chilly morning begins to distract me. I’m not really dressed for the cold, although my cardigan is quite warm. In the distance, I see sunlight touch the hillsides. I wonder what the day holds? I get to my feet to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

AI and the Myth of Falling Behind

April 15, 2026 //
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It is a lovely Spring morning, and it begins well. The rain stopped just as I got to the trailhead. Daybreak arrived soon after I did.

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

I enjoyed a pleasant moment with my Traveling Partner over coffee, and it is payday. A promising beginning to the day. I’ve even got a manicure appointment later, and managed to go almost 5 weeks since my last one without my cuticles tearing and without picking at my fingers. Major win.

What makes a moment? Mostly what we feel about it.

I get to my halfway point thinking about AI and the number of companies forcing that crap into every app, and every customer portal. It has degraded my experience of everything it touches. I’m frustrated by that, but more and more often I am also (rather cynically) amused. My amusement is mostly to do with the humorous notion that anyone needs to work to “keep up with” peers and colleagues using AI tools. No keeping up necessary. I’m watching their cognitive skills erode in real-time, instead. Wild.

Where AI most often vexes me presently is in the predictive auto-complete function in some applications where some amount of writing is required. I had gotten used to algorithms that specifically learned from my own use of language. At some recent point, it clearly changed, and now it is just… fucking wrong, a lot. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so annoying. It slows me down having to correct that shit constantly. I have my own voice, my own style, and I make my own mistakes in both grammar and spelling. Fuck AI. Who needs it? I’m not looking to sound like anyone else.

I chuckle to myself. I’ve no interest in wasting precious mortal lifetime writing prompts. I’d rather just write, and so I do. Similarly, I’ll do my own shopping, choose recipes without assistance, figure out a route for some road trip without AI, answer a friend’s text or a work email by actually simply typing my reply… I find it worthwhile to use my own mind. It is quite clear that these skills fit into the set of things in human life that are “use it or lose it”, but it is also clear that a lot of people won’t really understand that until they are no longer able to answer a simple question about themselves without asking a slopbot. That’s pretty sad. I make a note to buy more books and read them, and to spend time finishing the book I’m reading now.

The sky lightens. There is a new day ahead, filled with opportunities and choices. I smile, thinking of the garden. It’s time to plant starts and make that fence to go around the veggie bed to keep the deer from feasting on seedlings and topping all my tomatoes and peppers, this year. I have a plan.

I watch the clouds separate into lines and streaks as dawn becomes day. Beautiful blue sky shows through the breaks in the clouds. I feel like painting. This too I do without AI, pastels between my fingertips, eyes on the work, and an idea in mind. AI has no place in art. My opinion, of course, and no AI was required to think the thoughts that brought me to that conclusion.

I sigh happily to myself, enjoying this moment. No AI would be useful for that, either, and isn’t simple enjoyment of a moment one of the most fundamental human experiences? I definitely don’t feel as if I’m at risk of falling behind because I have no appreciation of (or use for) AI or LLM tools.

I glance at the time, reluctant to walk on down the path. I am enjoying this moment right here, now… but it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, thoughts on AI, Words
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