I woke rested and feeling comfortable and awash in a feeling of contentment. I got through my morning routine without making some sort of loud noise. I made it to the trailhead before sunrise, but just after daybreak.
I caught a glimpse of Mt Hood and the beginning of a colorful sunrise.
It’s a beautiful morning. I sigh contentedly and lace up my boots. The trail is dim but not dark. There are little birds everywhere, and the air smells of flowers. I’ve got my cane, my camera, and this moment. It’s enough. There’s a work day ahead, but that’s later. I need to remember to water the garden, but that time is not now. I’ve got an appointment to keep in the afternoon, but that requires no attention from me, yet. It’s just me, this trail ahead of me, this moment, and a glimpse of the sunrise.
I grin happily to myself and grab my cane to get started. The clock is ticking and it’s time to begin. Again.
A colorful sunrise greeted me at the trailhead. The weather is mild, almost warm. The air is calm, and the pollen count is fairly high. My head is a little stuffy. The robins (and there are many) are quite loud as they call to each other.
Dawn of a new day.
It is a new day, filled with promise and opportunity, chances for success and for failure, and rich with choices. It’s also an utterly ordinary such day. The day begins well; I escaped my headache of yesterday. Definitely a good beginning.
I swap soft shoes for sturdy boots and grab my cane. I rarely walk any distance without it these days. I’m not bothered by that, it’s just a detail.
Colorful sunrise
I breathe, exhale, and relax, and set off down the trail. Lovely day for it, in spite of my stuffy sinuses, and irritated throat. Lots of flowers blooming now. I’ve taken allergy medication first thing, and it helps. I continue to enjoy the moment – and the flowers. The sunrise continues to evolve, the clouds shifting pink to salmon to peach and bold shades of orange. Quite a display. I pause frequently to enjoy the sight of it, and to snap pictures.
…It is worth all manner of bother and inconvenience and delays to pause for a beautiful sunrise; there’s no knowing how many we may see…
I walked and watched the sun rise, until I reached this not-quite-halfway spot. It has a better view than my usual stopping point. A row of trees is silhouetted against the sky. A wonderful baby blue morning sky begins to show between the colorful clouds.
I breathe exhale and relax, sitting awhile with my thoughts as the sun rises. I think ahead to later. I have it in mind to make breakfast for my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer and myself, a little later. A chubby raccoon slowly walks past, far enough from me to be unconcerned about my presence, near enough to be clearly visible. Somewhere nearby, a woodpecker makes his presence known.
Dawn becomes day, and it’s time to begin again. I get to my feet to finish my walking and turn towards the sun.
This morning my walk began at a familiar well-maintained trailhead. I walked west with the sunrise at my back. The weather is mild, clear and calm. Seems likely to be a warm day and I’m glad I took time to water the garden thoroughly yesterday evening.
Mt Hood in the distance.
I pause my walk occasionally for sneezes, grateful to have thought to grab a pack of travel tissues, mildly annoyed to have to shove them in my pocket after using them; I’ve already passed by the few trash cans along the start of this trail.
I pass a woman going the opposite direction, being walked by her dogs. They pull her along, their leashes taut, she seems to pull back while also being hurried along. Too much dog, I suppose. I chuckle to myself and keep walking. The dogs paid me no attention, they had someplace to be, apparently.
Somewhere over there, the sun rises.
I woke up from surreal dreams this morning, super groggy. Even by the time I reach my halfway point, my head is still foggy, my strange dreams linger, and I have A Tribe Called Quest stuck in my head. I don’t overthink the moment, I queue up the track and listen to it while I watch another sunrise.
Venus sparkles like a tiny diamond on the soft pale blue of a dawn sky streaked with playful pink clouds. Hard to take the world seriously when there is such beauty. Sometimes pausing to appreciate the beauty in the world around me feels like an act of rebellion, as if to say “you have no power over me” to the goblin king. As the morning sky brightens, Venus fades away from view.
I sigh quietly to myself. I sit awhile with private thoughts. The clock ticks on. My journey is incomplete and the path beckons me. This trail isn’t going to walk itself. There’s more to see, more to do. The day has only just begun. I stretch and get to my feet. It’s time to begin again.
I stepped onto the now-open seasonal trail with a smile, feeling light-hearted. A dense bank of fog is clinging to the ground in low places, even now, well past sunrise, and after my walk is over. It was quite lovely, a bit chilly, and interrupted by pauses to look at wildflowers – and sneezes. The air is filled with scents of Spring.
Another sunrise
I slept rather poorly and woke earlier than necessary, but what a lovely day for an early morning walk along the seasonal marsh trail! The trees are green again, and the meadow flowers are blooming. Beautiful!
Oaks on the hillside, fog bank beyond.
By the time I got back to the car, the trailhead parking lot was full. It’s a work day, but clearly not for everyone. It’ll be quite rare to have the trail to myself until sometime in autumn, most likely. I consider that only briefly. It doesn’t really matter, generally. It’s one of those peculiar luxuries I have little control over, and I am content to appreciate it when I do get to experience that beautiful solitude. I yawn, watching the sunlight change angles as it passes through a clump of meadow flowers. I’ve got an errand to run, then it’s home to enjoy the day with my Traveling Partner.
There is a future, and the details of the specifics are unknown. Mostly, things will probably be fairly ordinary, because generally speaking, they are. I think about that as I walk, and wonder, and plan. No amount of planning and thinking will directly change the future, but it may lead to better choices.
Blue sky afternoon in Spring
I think about my garden as a metaphor. I can calculate the average yield of each plant I’ve planted, and plan ahead to do the necessary work, but these actions don’t determine what my harvest will actually be. My plans won’t determine what I actually get done. Circumstances will be what they are. I’ll know the outcome when I get there, and weigh the harvested produce. Will it be abundant? Will it fail to be sufficient? I can only guess, do my best, and hope to be prepared for all of the most likely outcomes.
Yesterday was sunny and pleasantly warm. I spent time in the garden in the evening after dinner. It felt like summer approaching. I planned to do some gardening on my breaks today (working from home). I woke to rain. It’s not raining heavily or steadily, though it obviously rained quite a lot during the night. I still manage to enjoy my walk. Drizzly now, but not raining hard. It’s not a good day for gardening though. It is sloppy and muddy and my arthritis is giving me a bad time. Yesterday, my view of today was obscured. I didn’t see this rainy day coming.
Spring in the Pacific Northwest
I sigh to myself as I walk, and I’m all the way back to the car before I take a moment for meditation and writing; my favorite stopping point on this trail was soaking wet and surrounded by mud.
I definitely don’t know what the future holds. Probably a lot more of all of the usual, which could be a bit of a buzzkill, until I consider how much of that future is within my control to at least some degree, all the time. I may not be certain of the outcome, but I do have a lot of choices. I can create and embrace change. I can hold space to succeed and to fail, and to find my way regardless of the circumstances. I can practice and build emotional resilience, contentment, and joy. Being present in this moment makes the journey a slow pleasant walk into a future I feel mostly pretty prepared for. Practicing non-attachment ensures that the bend in the path ahead is part of the journey, and not a cause for anxiety.
I smile to myself. My awareness of pain doesn’t make the morning less pleasant, only more human. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and prepare to begin again. The clock ticks. The sun rises. The rain falls. The journey continues.
Evening Light 