If someone asked you whether you thought bombing a girl’s school and killing a 150 or more little girls and young women would be “okay with you” to make a point or send a message, or exert control over someone far away and likely unable to harm you directly, would you say yes? It seems unlikely. Maybe you should speak up about that? (I’m not going to link news articles or expose you to the images of the many graves being dug.) I don’t think what matters is whether you think your voice will be effective so much as it matters that you are true to your values such that you are willing to call obscene violence against innocents what it is, and to strongly object to it being done in your name, or in the name of some god you hope may favor you. Just saying.
I sigh to myself. I am grateful to be, for the moment, safe here on this trail, in a country where no bombs are dropping. I’m deeply offended that we’re delivering death from the sky to a foreign nation in partnership with a brutal apartheid regime, with no purpose beyond power. It’s ugly. War always is ugly. There are no beautiful wars. There are no winners, only blood and pain and death and destruction. We should know better by now.
A full moon setting at dawn.
The sunrise beat me to the trailhead this morning. This cold is slowing me down but is more a nuisance than anything serious. I breathe exhale and relax. I’m really enjoying this brief time at home just my Traveling Partner and I. It’s lovely and intimate and close. I’ve missed it. In spite of being sick the entire time, I’ve enjoyed it so much!
I watch the full moon set from the trail. So lovely. No war right here, now, just the trail and the trees and the sky overhead. I sit awhile with my thoughts, quietly. It’s enough. I’ll begin again… soon. For now, this quiet moment is mine.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit quietly along this trail, appreciating a new day, a good mood, and having enjoyed a good night of rest. Small things, and still worth appreciating. A lot of small things have joy and wonder and plenty of value worth appreciating.
One moment, and the dawn of a new day.
The western sky is taking on some lovely pink hues along the edges of the clouds. I hear voices coming up the trail, rather loud for so early. “…use this trail almost around the clock, so we….” They come into view as they round the bend. I call out a cheery “Good morning!”, hoping to avoid startling them. “Morning, Young Lady!”, one replies. “We’re going down to put up caution tape and cut off a section of this trail for safety,” says the other. I ask if I’ll still be able to walk the loop all the way around with a detour, and they reply that I will. They walk on. I wave as they depart and they return the gesture. Human beings, being human.
Our words matter. Our gestures matter. Our ability and willingness to include others and to communicate matter. We have so much to offer each other and the world. Good things. We choose, and act on our choices. The consequences of our choices are our own to endure, and to be responsible and accountable is not something we can dodge or defer indefinitely. The bills will always come due. Worth thinking about.
Choose wisely. Speak gently. Act with intention.
The clouds roll past overhead, and it’s a gray sort of dawn. For a moment I catch a glimpse of a luminous fat full moon peaking through clouds and tangled bare branches. Pretty. It doesn’t last. Moments are brief. Impermanent. There’s something to be learned from that. I sigh quietly. I am wrapped in contentment and not eager to move from this place or this moment. The clock is ticking, though, and moments don’t last, even when we linger.
I stand and brush some damp leaves off my jeans and look down the path. New day. New moments. Time to begin again. I smile to myself and set off down the path.
I’m sitting at the halfway point on this trail I’m walking. It is familiar and safe. The news feels distinctly less safe, so I refrain from looking at it. I know what war looks like, and I don’t need to ingest repetitive AI slop and propaganda retelling the approved narrative. I’ll sit here bird-watching instead. Nice morning for it.
Birds know better.
…Oh, make no mistake, I’d definitely like to see the people of Iran free to govern themselves under a system of government they have chosen for themselves. I earnestly hope our corrupt government’s almost certainly self-serving violence has the effect of also improving the lives of Iranian citizens. Any who survive it, I mean. I admit, I am curious how it seemed necessary to intervene with airstrikes and bombs in Iran, but not Ukraine, Palestine, Rwanda… You get where I’m going with this? We aren’t going to be told truthfully why we are intervening now, in Iran, but not the many other times a nation’s citizens have pleaded for our assistance. I am as certain as I can be that it is about power, and money, and oil. Gross.
Look for the beauty in the moment.
I sigh to myself and pull my attention back to the many birds on the marsh and in the oaks dotting the meadow here. Portions of this nature park were once farm or homestead land. The signs of that expose themselves each Spring as flowers begin to bloom. Varieties that don’t grow wild here grow here and there in little pockets, places once planted and cared for by people who are now gone. The flowers remain. Crocuses and daffodils, for now, and I think I spotted paperwhites back up the trail a ways. I am reminded of the battlefield memorial places I have visited. Revolutionary war. Civil war. Mexican-American War. World War I and World War II… I feel both privileged and saddened to have seen so many… You’d think a sentient relatively well developed species could do better… You’d be wrong. At least, you’d be wrong to think homo sapiens would do better. Are you kidding? We can’t even see past campaign lies and political rhetoric to vote wisely for our leaders.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Fuck war. Do better, people. Our survival depends on it
I sit watching the little birds and wondering whether our perception of “intelligence” in living creatures is waaay off, and perhaps we’re just the dumbest fucking things around… too stupid to enjoy our lives and each other, or to appreciate this beautiful planet we live on. Honestly, that does seem pretty stupid, from the perspective of this moment, sitting on a fence rail between marsh and meadow, enjoying the sunshine and the company of little birds. I smile, grateful for this moment, and this place.
I swing my feet and am reminded that my boots are worn out. I found new ones I like during my shopping yesterday, but the local retailers were selling them for more than twice the manufacturer’s price – for a model from 2023! A quick check of their website resulted in a purchase… and some wait time for them to arrive. I have learned the value of waiting.
It’s been a good weekend for self-care, and a recommendation by my Traveling Partner with regard to my pain management seems to have resulted in notable improvement. I feel pretty good. I’ve a few more things I can (maybe should) do for myself this weekend. I’m reaching the point of awkwardness, when I begin to question whether “this is too much”, but that’s just bullshit and baggage. I can let that go.
I sigh happily, feeling the sun warm on my back, and grateful that no bombs are dropping here. I see fellow travelers approaching on the trail. I hop down from the fence rail, feeling merry and light on my feet. It’s a good opportunity to begin again.
My walk this morning began at sunrise. Beautiful. Worth the drive. Feeling rested and eager, I headed down the trail at a brisk pace, but with the spare trekking pole from my gear bin, instead of my usual one that functions as my outdoor all-purpose cane. (I forgot about grabbing it from my Traveling Partner’s pickup.)
Every sunrise is a new beginning.
The brisk pace was foolish. It’s a chilly morning, and I’m warmed through from walking when I get to my halfway point and stop to write and reflect. My ankle and left foot are feeling the adverse effects of my enthusiasm, though, and remind me why my plan today includes shopping for new boots.
… I’m not annoyed to be replacing these boots over any perception of poor quality. It’s not that at all. It’s that this pair of boots turned out to be “single use” in the sense that they can’t be re-soled. The built-in cushioning air pockets designed into the molded (or extruded, I don’t know) soles can fail through wear (obviously), and can’t be repaired. Crappy design not intended for durability. I dislike designed obsolescence, and find it to be a pretty shitty sales tactic. Still, I’ve had (and worn) these boots for almost 3 years and they’ve lasted pretty well…
The bare trees are full of little birds.
I sit awhile watching a variety of small birds hopping about and flitting among the bare branches of the oaks that dot the meadow. There’s a hint of soft green beginning to show like a haze when I look at the trees from a distance. Spring is coming. I think about the world for a moment, more worried about war than I’d like to be. It feels real and potentially imminent in an uncomfortable way, and creates a sorrow deep within me. I thought we were past this, but no. Evil still exists in the world. Human primates are neither fully domesticated nor are they “civilized”. Am I prepared to deal with it? I sigh to myself grateful for a full tank of gas and my gear in my car. Even recognizing how little that really prepares me for, it gives me some comfort.
… I definitely need boots I can walk in comfortably over a long distance…
The Chaotic Comic wants to get together for brunch. Maybe tomorrow? I’d enjoy that. I sit awhile longer, letting my foot and ankle recover a bit before I head back to the car – at a slower, more considerate pace. I think about my choices, and what I look for in a sturdy boot, before I begin again
Yes, the boots, and the shopping, are metaphors. Choose wisely; how you equip yourself for the journey matters.
I got the call yesterday evening. My car was ready to be picked up from the body shop. It’s been two… three? Three weeks, since I had dropped it off. I think. Close enough. I’ve been enjoying the comfort and luxury features of my Traveling Partner’s pickup. It’s very nice.
… I already miss the heated steering wheel and seats. 😆 The view is quite different, too. It defrosts faster on a cold morning, and has such a smooth ride! I already know that I will replace my current vehicle with the same make as my Traveling Partner’s truck, having determined the SUV in their product line will suit me nicely. That time is not now… lol
The Anxious Adventurer gave me a ride over to the body shop. I walked past my car looking over the repair work. Wow. Like new. I mean, I guess that’s the point. I slid into the driver’s seat gently, and readjusted the seat position and the mirrors. I start it up…no squeak. I pull out, getting the feel of it again; it’s very different from the pickup. Less luxurious. Less…(or…more?) of something else I can’t put my finger on. Feels weird, but also very comfortable and familiar. I like this car. But…? Yeah. It has its quirks and shortcomings.
From the trail, the vehicle doesn’t matter.
I drove to the trailhead this morning, feeling pleased to be back in my car again. I do enjoy the truck when I drive it, but it isn’t mine. I don’t like leaving my Traveling Partner stuck at home either, now that he can drive when he wants to. I chuckle at myself for being vexed that timing will prevent me from reloading my gear into my car before the end of the work day. I let it go. It’s not urgent.
I head down the trail into the fog. It’s a chilly morning. The season seems uncertain whether to be winter or Spring. I love hitting the trail at a time of morning to see the sunrise. This morning it is bold orange, veiled by the fog, creating a strange diffuse glow on the morning horizon. To the west, only fog, and the trail disappearing into it.
Friday, at last. It’s been that kind of week. I sigh to myself. I’d eagerly drive somewhere and try a new trail this weekend, but I need new boots before I do that. The car is due for an oil change, too. I feel fairly certain there were other things I want or need to do this weekend, but I can’t recall them now.
I breathe, exhale, and relax, tasting the cold morning air and watching the sun rise. I stretch and sigh quietly. It’s already time to begin again.
Evening Light 