I’m waiting at the trailhead for daybreak. It is a quiet Sunday morning, uncomplicated and ordinary. I’m okay with that. Everything does not need to be exciting all the time. Truly, it’s probably best that generally things are fairly mundane and without excitement or drama. Isn’t there enough of all that without going looking for it or creating it?
There is a big difference between “interesting” and “exciting”, and between “worthwhile” and “full of drama”. I am content with interesting moments and spending my time on things that are worthwhile.
There’s a hint of mist clinging in the low spots out on the marsh. The morning is drizzly and mild, and seems rather warm for winter. I don’t rush to head down the trail. I’m in no hurry, and I take time to properly enjoy the hint of a view in the pre-dawn dimness. There’s very little traffic on the highway beyond the trailhead parking. I feel almost alone in the world. It’s a pleasant feeling from the safety and comfort of not being truly alone in the world. (That would be a very complicated experience fraught with unanticipated dangers, as temptingly pleasant as it often sounds to me. Reality would not care at all about my expectations or assumptions.)
I smile and get going, boots crunching quietly on the path. Nice morning for it.
The drizzle persisted as I walked. I returned to the car quite damp, though I never felt the rain. Daybreak became dawn in the usual way, as I walked. Dawn became a gray somewhat dismal unseen sunrise, beyond the dense gray clouds. I enjoyed the walk nonetheless; it was never about the weather, only the moment.
Today I ache ferociously all over. Yesterday’s longer walk, and the time spent later moving heavy(ish) objects, and later still doing the planned housework stuff, was time and effort spent productively and well. I’m definitely feeling it, though. Today’s dampness isn’t helping. There’s a feeling of satisfaction to the pain, though, and a sense that fitness efforts are paying off, however sore I am this morning. Yesterday was a good day. I sit with the recollection for a few minutes, feeling grateful and fortunate.
Today? More housekeeping, very routine, and I am not in any hurry to get to it. It will wait, and my Traveling Partner enjoys having a little time to sleep in and wake up slowly. I sit listening to the sounds of birdsong as the morning minutes tick by gently. I have time for my thoughts, and time to run a couple errands. I probably have time to enjoy a cup of coffee, before my beloved pings me to say he’s up and ask if I would come home and make breakfast. I smile, heart full of love. It’s no great imposition to make breakfast on a Sunday (and he appreciates simple things that I make quite well), and he’s not yet sufficiently recovered to cook easily. He’s a good cook, though, and I look forward to him being back in the kitchen, inviting me to come home and enjoy the breakfast he prepares.
I sigh quietly, contentedly. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a pleasant moment of solitude and I linger here, savoring it. I’m grateful.
All manner of little birds call to each other, as I sit listening. I look but don’t see them. Some are in the meadow grass. Some are in the trees. Minutes pass. Soon it will be time to begin again. I’m okay with that, too.
