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Sprinkles

November 6, 2026 //
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The autumn air smelled of rain as I left the house. I inhaled it deeply, grateful for the mild morning, and also that I had managed to leave for the day without creating drama over the difficult unrestful night.

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

It started sprinkling just as I got to the trail. Little spatters of rain tapping pleasantly on my rain poncho. It’s isn’t enough to discourage walking. I walk on, thinking about other “sprinkles” in life…

… Major changes in Congress, both House and Senate.

… Amazing firsts among newly elected Governors.

… Celebrity rapists being tried and convicted.

…. Communities standing together against AI data centers and AI slop.

A lot of things won’t change, or won’t change yet, but some things will. Maybe humanity will figure shit out and do better? Maybe elected officials will figure their shit out and actually govern skillfully on behalf of all the people?

Maybe. Maybe not. I won’t hold my breath – but I will appreciate the sprinkles of improvement and change.

… Sometimes the best thing I can do for myself in a difficult moment is stop and really appreciate what is good, and the things that are going well. It is easy for our negativity bias to take over and persuade us that life is crappy. Moments pass. It is worthwhile to let small shit stay small.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My usual halfway point was occupied today. Racoons. So cute and fluffy, but seriously not to be trifled with. I walked on a ways to this spot. In the darkness, it may as well be the same spot. The sky is cloudy, no stars. There’s an orange sort of glow along the northern horizon, where the lights of town illuminate the clouds from below. The rain stops. My physical pain continues. Life. Change is. I take another deep breath, and exhale slowly.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. The weekend is ahead. I’d like to paint, but there’s a ton of housework to do. It seems smart to focus on getting healthy rest and doing a bunch of chores. I remind myself to ask my beloved what he needs out of the weekend before I commit to plans.

The sky begins to lighten. A new day. A doe steps out of the trees and crosses the trail into the vineyard. She regards me calmly as she passes. I exhale the breath I had been holding unintentionally and breathe in again, exhaling, and relaxing.

I meditate. Write. Then? Begin again. There’s a whole new day ahead. Time to walk on, get coffee, and get to work. I get to my feet, and look down the path. No idea where the journey ultimately leads, but this is my path and I’m walking it.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Fog in the Morning

November 5, 2026 //
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It’s very foggy this morning. It is chilly, but not actually cold. I get to the trailhead safely, feeling eager to walk in the fog (if only because I’ve been painting foggy scenes lately and I enjoy the view of things obscured by fog).

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

The lights of the parking lot are eerie through the trees.

I walk the trail thinking about luck, and how routinely very successful and very wealthy people fail to honestly account for various lucky breaks they benefited from on their journey to success or great wealth. The “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” myth and similar tales of self-made success are frankly dishonest, though people may eventually come to believe that shit in the retelling of their stories over time. We don’t get where we are alone, good or bad. Sure, we’re each having our own experience, and yes, we are individually responsible for our own actions… but luck matters, too. Like, a lot.

I sigh to myself as I walk with my thoughts in the fog. The entire experience feels like a metaphor.

I get to my halfway point thinking about my general good fortune. I sometimes yearn for an easier life than I’ve got, but this life is good, just as it is. I have it better than my parents did, and lacking their lucky breaks getting here was a lot of work over many years. I’m grateful. I’m here, living this modest life in a small pleasant suburb, at the edge of a beautiful rural region of vineyards and farms and beautiful views. It’s enough to live this life, and more than enough to get to enjoy it in the context of my Traveling Partner’s love and good company.

… I somehow still find myself complaining about petty dumb shit that vexes me momentarily, forgetting how good I do have it, after all these years…

I may never be wealthy (by percentages, very few people ever will be). I may never have a life of excess and luxury. I have it pretty good though – there is a roof over my head, a secure home and well-stocked pantry, indoor plumbing and safe drinking water, and clean clothes to wear. I’ve got a good job and skills I can rely on. I live with chronic pain, but I have the medical care to manage it. I’ve got a head full of chaos and damage – but I’ve also got good therapeutic support and the tools for appropriate self-care. This isn’t a bad life. It’s actually pretty good.

What do you yearn for? What is your dream of a perfect life? Are your own desires obscuring your view of the life you live now? Are you “walking in fog”, not really seeing the joy and beauty of the life you have?

I think and walk until I reach a suitable place to stop, rest, write, and just be. It’s not my usual stopping point. I walked past it in the fog. 😆 There’s definitely a useful metaphor or two in this morning’s walk. There’s a piece of construction barrier handy to sit on, so I stop for meditation and writing. I use my rain poncho to make a dry place to sit. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and repeat. I give myself up to breath and calm observational awareness, sitting in the fog.

I could do without this fucking headache, though; I breathe, exhale, and let that go.

I could do without the arthritis pain. Another breath, another exhalation, and I let that go too.

As each internal criticism arises, I take a break, exhale, and let it go.

Every distracting thought is followed by a breath, and exhalation, and a release of that distraction, letting it dissipate into the fog with my breath.

This is not a difficult practice, nor is it costly. It does not require an expensive course. It does not require a subscription. It only requires practice. It is necessary to do the verbs, there are no shortcuts.

The predawn darkness is giving way to the earliest hints of nautical dawn. This may be my favorite time of morning, these moments when the first clear silhouettes of trees become distinct in the gloom. Shapes appear and become recognizable. There is a feeling of anticipation; the sunrise is coming. Even this feeling is released with an exhalation, to dissipate into the fog. It’s not as if I have any control over the coming and going of the sun anyway.

Lovely quiet morning, I think as I get to my feet. I peer into the fog. Headlamp? No. No headlamp, just this beautiful foggy twilight of dawn, and this foggy trail. It’s enough. I begin again.

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

DST, Change, Distractions

November 1, 2026 //
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I woke feeling groggy and confused, unsure of day, date, or time. I spent the time getting dressed also trying to figure out the change to the clocks as I stared fixedly at my phone.

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

…Was it earlier or later? I couldn’t quite sort it out. I manage to dress and leave the house, feeling incredibly clumsy and more than a little stupid. I did manage to remember to take the bag of cardboard to the recycling bin. Small win, but it counts. The clock change reliably fucks up my morning routine for awhile, until I’ve readjusted. Again. G’damn it is frankly astonishing that anyone thought this would be a good idea.

We change the clocks forward, we change them back. The change is irrelevant to the length of a day. We’re just stupid like that.

Squirrel!!

I enjoyed some time in the studio yesterday. Nothing much came of it; two small pastels, one actually “bad” (to my eyes), the other… fine? Not what I was going for, but it’s “saleable”. I may rework them both. I’ve got another I chronically eye with irritation, from some time ago. Sometimes I sit for long moments eyeing “failed work”, contemplating how to “fix my mistakes”. My Traveling Partner made some interesting observations about yesterday’s work. He made good points about how best to revisit each, and made the observation that pursuing my craft will certainly mean failures now and then to learn from. Wise words.

… I appreciate feeling supported as an artist…

Last night was Halloween. Goblin hoards visited at regular intervals, mostly princesses this year, and a couple of large dinosaurs, and one or two Toy Story characters. There was also a tiny Hunter S Thompson, which struck me as strange and hilarious. We didn’t run out of sweets. It was a fun evening. I was glad when it was over, though. It’s a lot to deal with.

The fog on the trail is dense this morning. I walked with my headlamp on a dim setting and carried it in my hand, lower, and pointed towards the ground. The temperature is just above freezing, but cold. I’m grateful to have put on warm layers. I regret not grabbing my scarf and gloves from my gear bin. I was distracted by a rather large possum seeming to be approaching me as I stepped out of the car. I wasn’t frightened; I didn’t want rabies. 😆 It veered away quickly when it finally noticed me. Too late for my scarf and gloves, I was already headed down the trail.

The walk to this “halfway point” was spooky in the fog. I enjoy indulging my imagination with thoughts that somehow the world does not exist beyond the fog.

The beginning of this trail is partially illuminated by the streetlights along the edge of the parking lot.

“Already” the sky is turning bluer, grayer, and night is fading away. The fog obscures everything and muffles the sound of HVAC on the air museum buildings in the distance. I can’t hear any traffic, either. November 1st, All Souls Day, in the fog. Spooky indeed. If the ghost of my mother, my Granny, or my Dear Friend turned up, I would not even be surprised. I persist in hearing footsteps, but no one approaches. I think I hear conversation somewhere in the fog. Random noises remixed with my tinnitus, is all.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation in the fog “hits different”. That’s not a complaint. I stretch and watch the trees become more prominent in the strangely blue gray of the foggy dawn. Soon it will be time to begin again.

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

First Frost

October 31, 2026 //
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The car crackled as frost broke when I first opened the car door, this morning. It is an icy and cold morning as I start down the marsh trail. Foggy, too.

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

Days of rain and gloom in the mornings have given way to autumn afternoons, some mild, some unexpectedly warm, others drizzly and chilly. This morning we get the first frost here where I am, but the freeze warning for the 24-hour period made it clear colder weather would be happening, and the frost visible all around was a thin glaze of clear ice on bridges and overpasses, and “black ice” is an obvious risk this morning. I drove with caution, mindful to stay at safe speeds for icy conditions.

… Being safe is smart, even if tech bros and AI fanboys don’t understand that…

I am similarly cautious as I head down the trail. I am warmly dressed, appropriately for the weather, and I have my headlamp adjusted for best visibility in foggy conditions. It just doesn’t take much to keep safety in mind. The journey is more comfortable and pleasant when it is a safe one.

Am I “risk averse”? Damn right, I’m risk averse. I’ve taken my share of risks, and based on experience, I finding taking a safe path is generally the wiser choice. Will I take risks? Well, yeah. Sometimes the predictable risk looks manageable and the outcome worth that risk. I still favor a safe path when I’ve got one, in most circumstances.

I walk with my thoughts through the predawn darkness. Daylight Savings Time ends tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to the days of disrupted sleep and medication timing, but I get through it every year, even though the stupidity of DST leaves me bemused. Do people really think that changing the clocks changes the reality of diminishing day length as the season changes? Human primates, eh? So inventive. So imaginative. So willing to make dumb decisions because the idea seemed good at the time. Slow down. Choose wisely.

I get to my halfway point in the dark. It’ll be dark when I walk on, too. Not my preference, but I don’t think changing all the clocks to avoid darkness makes sense. I wear a headlamp instead.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My breath mingles with the fog. I hear movement on the marsh… somewhere. I don’t see anything. There are no sounds that alarm me, but like the deer I keep a watchful eye. In the darkness, I rely more on sounds for threat detection. The morning is cold and quiet. The source of the noise emerges from the meadow grasses along the trail. Racoons. A large female escorting a group of smaller racoons crosses the trail, some of them playful, some adventurous, some of them stay close to her as the group travels. If one of them spoke to me in a human voice as they passed, “nice morning for it”, or some other polite greeting, I wouldn’t be surprised – but I also don’t expect it. It’s a strange foggy morning on the marsh before dawn.

I meditate awhile. I write. I reflect on thoughts and ideas and inspiration for new paintings. This quiet time is reliably my own, and I enjoy it. Later a manicure and maybe some studio time. For now I am here, now, and it is enough. I’ll walk on when I get too cold to sit longer; that’s soon enough for beginning again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Life.

October 29, 2026 //
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It is quiet here at the side of this trail in the darkness. It is early, before sunrise. It is autumn, chilly but not cold. Everything around me is wet from rain during the night. The clouds are dense and the sky quite dark, no stars shine through.

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

I breathe in the chilly fresh damp autumn air, grateful to breathe easily, thinking my thoughts. The freedom to walk safely in the darkness in the wee hours is precious and I make a point to savor it. I have no reason to expect that I’ll always have such freedom. It’s a strange world, and very few things are truly lasting certainties. So, I sit here contentedly for a little while, just being. Grateful.

The night was a difficult one. I sigh to myself, from frustration, or impatience, or maybe because life itself is often difficult. It could be so much worse. I practice anchoring myself to this moment here, now. It is quite a pleasant one, and it happens to be the one I’m in. Handy.

I breathe, exhale, and relax.

I hope my beloved gets the rest he needs. It is hard on him too when I am having a bad night.

Yesterday was tiring. My annual wellness check with my GP was fine. I’m in good health for my age and considering my history that’s impressive (to me). I got my flu shot. Convenient. It’s a long drive away, though, and I was tired by the time I got home. I shared a quiet evening watching videos with my Traveling Partner. All very ordinary and happily mundane.

… I’ve been having bad dreams, more or less nightly, for awhile now. Dreams of war, of chaos, of having to “mask up” in response to some threat of chemical or biological warfare then discovering the chemical agent is inside the mask… Rough. Worse are the more abstract dreams. How the hell is a dream of a “rainstorm” of strangely sticky confetti a “bad dream”?! I have no idea. What does a dream of blood going down a drain actually mean? Lucid dreaming practices sometimes help me find my way out. Waking up is a reliable way to stop a bad dream, though it does not prevent them lingering in my thoughts, sometimes for days.

This morning I’m tired but clear headed. It’s enough to get by on. The weekend is coming. I am hoping to spend much of it in the studio. How do I most easily put a nightmare to rest? I paint its picture. It is a peculiarly personal way to exorcise my demons.

A sprinkle of rain begins to fall. I get to my feet to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, inspiration, Love, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words
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