Archives for category: joy

Sometimes I find a moment of peace through happenstance, sometimes I make choices that create a moment of peace. Either way, I enjoy the moment.

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

This morning is a bit of both, I guess. I chose to set my alarm for an early hour, in spite of being Saturday, and in spite of an interrupted night’s sleep. I chose this particular trail, in a small state park. It is pure luck that I’ve got it all to myself this morning: no other walkers, no dogs, no talkative children, just quiet, and birdsong. It’s lovely.

A new day, a path I chose.

I start down the trail as the sun rises. The air is sweet and spicy with that particular fragrance of Oregon wildflowers that I love so much. My steps feel comfortable, my stride feels relaxed and confident. For the time being my pain is minimal, and I’ve got my cane to steady me if my energy runs out, or I stumble. It’s a good beginning on a new day, and I savor the beauty of the moment as I walk.

Wildflowers line the trail.

I walk. Breathe. Exhale. Drink in the sights and scents of this lovely summer morning. Granted, it’s easier to create and enjoy a moment of peace in a place such as this, but I’ve found similar peace in some unlikely places. The success is in the outcome, not the setup. I sigh to myself; I’m not fooling anyone. It definitely is easier to find (or create) a peaceful moment in a place like this. I smile as I walk. I’m grateful for this lovely easy peaceful joyful moment of solitude on a carefree summer Saturday morning. Moments don’t last, so I savor it while it does.

Be present; every step counts.

I peer over the edge of an odd gap between trees off the edge of the trail. Something clearly uses this as a route to somewhere… but it is treacherously steep. I don’t test my agility; I am too aware of my limitations, cautious, and reluctant to be injured in a location where I might not easily be found. Choices.

I walk on. The sun lights up the tree tops, green and gold. I get to a favorite spot with a lovely view and stop to watch the sunrise.

A nice spot to reflect on a new day.

I’m not really thinking about the day ahead just yet. I’m enjoying the moment I’m in. That’s enough. This beautiful moment is as fleeting as any other – all too brief – it makes sense to enjoy it as it is, and soak myself in this delightful feeling of peace. It will pass. I chuckle to myself. Good or bad, the moments pass. The clock is ticking on this mortal life. I don’t let the awareness fret me. I just walk on.

I get to my feet, feeling content and merry and ready for a new day, wherever my path may lead. It’s time to begin again.

The car is unloaded. I’ve had a shower and mostly unpacked everything and returned my gear to storage. There are still thoughts to think, and some metaphysical baggage yet to unpack. It was a good getaway. Time well-spent. I’m glad to be home, though. As with most plans, reality got to have her say and I’m glad I’m an adaptable sort of creature – it came in handy. I’ll tell those tales over the next several days. Today is about coming home. It is everything, for now, and it is enough. 😀

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

At home in the forest.

No connectivity for three days. My walk-in camp site was too far to lug some of the gear I brought for this trip out into the trees. It was an oddly stripped down bit of time away, and the lacks of convenience served to push my focus to the moment I was in, without regard to my comfort. I needed that more than I knew. I spent my hours in my own good company, easily able to hear myself think.

…Friday I was too tired to bother with lugging my pastels and my tabletop easel to the camp site. Saturday I was in too much pain. By Sunday I had “found my way” – and it didn’t involve painting, or long hikes, or looking at the world through my camera’s lens. I spent my time in thought, giving myself the rare treat of my own undivided attention. Three days. Well, almost three days – more than two. lol The long drive to (and home from) this forest was definitely one of the nicest parts of the journey – what a beautiful drive! Very little traffic.

The best part of the trip, and the most wonderful part of my days of solitude? Coming home to my beloved Traveling Partner, for sure.

I woke early, with my alarm. I dressed quickly and quietly, and watered the lawn before heading for the trail. I arrived just at daybreak – ostensibly when this park opens – and as I drove into the park to the trailhead, I passed one, then another parked car. Imagine my surprise (and, frankly, my irritation) to see random cars parked willy-nilly on the narrow access road. These were no early morning hikers, either, these were over night visitors or people parked out of view, sleeping in their cars.

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

I sigh crossly, grateful I don’t speed down this road in the twilight of dawn. I easily could have hit one of them, parked well into the road (there being no parking at all along the access road and no pullouts).

I get to the trailhead parking. Another overnighter parked in just the stupidest fashion in a spot very much outside the actual parking and blocking the path down to a lovely river view. I swear to myself, thoroughly vexed by this bullshit. I start down the path, stepping around the truck quietly, and find myself startled by the guard dog chained beneath the truck, who lunges at me barking furiously. Well fuck that shit. I turn back even more annoyed, but not wishing to risk a dog bite.

…G’damn, fuck rude people abusing park spaces with their entitled bullshit…

I turn down a different path as I wonder “who even does this shit?!”, but I don’t really want to know – I just want my peaceful morning walk. Disappointing start. I inhale the fragrant summer air as I walk down the path into the meadow. It had been dense clover, blooming with sweet smelling purple flowers only a couple weeks ago. It has been mown since then. The tidy arrangement of rows makes me wonder what sort of farm equipment was used for the purpose. The view isn’t as lovely as when the meadow is lush and blooming. An altogether disappointing start to the day.

I get to my halfway point on this loop trail.  The rock I generally sit on has a fat pile of dog shit dropped right next to it. Gross. “Fucking hell, people, clean up after your g’damned dogs”, I mutter crossly as I walk on. I have the recollection of a convenient rock or log somewhere along here… Now my walk becomes a vigilant search for somewhere to sit, instead of a peaceful, mindful, meditative progression of steps on a path. 

…I feel my awareness of my own disappointment begin to evolve into seething irritation, almost anger, that sits at the edge of becoming a feeling of entitlement…

I sigh and stop. I just stop on the trail and stand for a moment, listening to the birds chirping, peeping, and singing. I lean against a large-ish maple of some kind, resting my feet. My back aches already, today. My tinnitus whines loudly in my ears, and I focus on the birds singing to assure myself that the tinnitus isn’t “real” and hasn’t actually deafened me. I breathe, exhale, and relax.

… It’s a beautiful moment, in a lovely spot along a wooded trail, on a cloudy summer morning. It’s worth redirecting my attention to here, now…

I let my irritation and disappointment dissipate. I watch robins foraging in the leaf litter at the edge of the trail. It’s a beautiful quiet morning. I hear Spring Valley Creek trickling past nearby, unseen beyond the thicket of shrubs and berry vines. Young chipmunks chase each other through the trees. The leaves of the trees shake and rustle in the breeze. The clouds hint at rain that may not come and I find myself wondering why I am in so much pain this morning? I have no enthusiasm for the work I committed to helping my beloved Traveling Partner with, today, but maybe I’ll feel more like it later. I don’t dwell on it, or on my pain.

I walk on down the path, and find myself in a pleasant glade near a bend in the path. There is an old picnic table tucked back away from the trail, in a regrettable state of disrepair, but adequate as a place to sit that isn’t on the ground (harder to get back up at 63 than it would have been at 30).  I sit awhile. I write. I meditate. I wait on a moment that hasn’t yet arrived. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s so easy to take shit personally that isn’t personal at all. Reality isn’t going to bother with correcting our mistakes for us, it will simply punish us when we’re incorrect. I sigh to myself and remind myself to do something about my pain when I get back to the car.

I don’t bother with the news today. Why would I? Ads. AI slop. Sponsored content. Cookies. Paywalls. Slanted opinions instead of clean emotionally neutral factual reporting, or honest authentic and explicitly stated personal biases revealed openly. All of it on repeat, and supplemented by copies of copies of copies shared across media groups and individuals. Completely pointless, and all of it seriously joy destroying crap targeted at getting all of us to pay someone for something. Bleh. No thanks. I sigh, feeling a little impatient even having the thought, and pull my attention back to “now”.

“View of the Willamette River” “7 x “9.5”, soft pastel on Pastelmat

It’s not reliably easy to find, make, or preserve our peace or our joy. There are verbs involved, and a willingness to persist. I’ve been finding it helpful to spend more time in my studio, painting. I smile to myself; the view I missed this morning is the view I painted from memory last night. I find some little bit of comfort, joy, and peace in that idea.

I take a deep breath of the cool summer air, smelling the scent of recently mown clover mingling with the scent of wildflowers. A bird of prey somewhere nearby screams about whatever is on their mind. The chipmunks all vanish. This moment may not be “perfect” (what ever is?), but it is mine, and it is enough. I think about the day ahead and wonder if my partner is also in more than usual pain this morning?

… Sometimes the best I can do is to keep walking, putting one foot after the other, until I get somewhere. Each day offers a new beginning, and each moment is a new chance at peace and joy. What will I do with it (besides “my best”)? The clock is ticking – today I feel it more. The clouds overhead are definitely threatening rain now – I guess it’s a good time to begin again.

It’s a pretty morning. Nothing fancy, a pretty sunrise, a nice walk on a summer morning, and it is Friday. The morning is chilly, the sky is a clear and soft cerulean blue hue, with faintly yellow edges down low on the horizon.

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

I walk thinking about stress, anxiety, mental health, and what it takes to thrive when the news of the day is a toxic cocktail of AI slop, advertising, and propaganda with only a sprinkling of actual news thrown in (most of it bad).

… Maybe I should paint more..?

Yesterday evening, background stress I wasn’t explicitly aware I was carrying got identified and called out by my Traveling Partner, gently. Instead of fussing resentfully, I used the opportunity to head to my studio. The timing seemed excellent for it; I’ve been trying to nudge myself to paint more – and more often! This turned out to be a good choice.

Untitled pastel, 5″ x 7″ 2026

Make of it what you will.

I definitely need to paint more! I sigh contentedly from the side of the trail. Beautiful morning, sunshine illuminating the tall oaks and the tidy vineyards. I feel inspired and unbothered.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice morning for meditation. A good morning to begin again.

It is the actual 4th of July. What are you even celebrating? 250 years of… what, exactly? Or… are you celebrating something about the way things are, presently? Think about that. I’m not going to wait – this trail is ahead of me.

Where does this path lead? It’s an important question.

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

What are you celebrating today? America’s 250th birthday? The destruction of democracy at the hands of the corrupt and the foolish? Something more personal? (For a long time I celebrated my freedom and survival from my first marriage every July 4th – totally worth celebrating.) What does the day really mean to you? Is it only a third day off, and a cookout, followed by lackluster fireworks and the sound of sirens after some careless idiot blows his hand off misusing fireworks at home?

…250 years of racism and misogyny?..

On a lighter note, my Traveling Partner pointed out, a couple days ago, that we are observing the six year anniversary of moving into our little small town suburban home. Wow – already? I remember that first 4th of July in a new place, still moving in, no AC, listening to our neighbors blowing shit up until well past midnight. The house was stifling hot, the windows open to a breeze that never seemed enough to cool things down. (I’m glad we had the AC installed. Worth it.) I’m grateful to be free from the constant nagging awareness that my rented housing wasn’t really mine, noisy neighbors and all. Worth celebrating. We worked hard to get here. We are fortunate to be here.

A view of the Willamette River from a convenient rock.

I find a spot to sit awhile and watch the river flow past. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I exchange good morning greetings with my beloved. The lovely pinks and golds of the sunrise that I enjoyed getting here are long gone. The day looks overcast, and there is no hint of sunshine for now, although the forecast indicates a sunny hot day. (Maybe the government should have kept their meteorologists and weather data gathering agencies intact after all? Shortsighted fuckwits.)

I inhale the scented summer air. Flowers. Clover, blackberries, and St John’s Wort mostly, and some wild roses here and there. The combination is pleasant. I exhale slowly, and repeat, filling my lungs and my senses. This is a lovely spot to sit with my thoughts.

I watch young squirrels playing in the branches that hang over the trail. The saplings sway under their weight, flexing and springing back as they jump from branch to branch. While my attention is diverted, a chipmunk sneaks up and tugs at the end of my bootlace, then darts away when I look down. I laugh out loud and startle all manner of creatures back into the safety of the underbrush. Noisy human.

Little birds flit about, landing nearby for a moment, singing a bit of their song, then flying away. This is a beautiful spot. Quiet. Peaceful. I sit enjoying it awhile longer, taking note of blackberry vines heavy with unripe fruit. The thimbleberries are laden with young fruit, too. Among the native shrubs, a twisted old apple tree also has young fruits on it.

I sigh contentedly to myself. I’m not inclined to celebrate the dumpster fire that is modern day American “governance”, but I’ve got this beautiful day, and I am fortunate to enjoy this moment before returning home to a life rich in joy and love. That’s totally worth celebrating.

Wherever you are is a great place to begin, again.