I “slept in” this morning, still waking well before sunrise. My Traveling Partner was already up, and we enjoyed a cup of coffee together before I left for my morning walk. It was a pleasant moment together.
One perspective on the morning.
I arrived at the trailhead before the gate opened. There was a drizzly rain falling, but by the time the gate into the park opened the rain had stopped. Convenient.
I hit the trail happily, and watched mumurations of birds rising from the marshy lowlands, and flocks of geese moving on to their next stopping point on their journey. I listened to peeping frogs, unseen in the weeds at the water’s edge. I felt the morning breezes on my face along with an occasional raindrop. It’s a lovely gray cloudy morning with mists clinging here and there, looking rather mysterious. I walked along in solitude, content to be alone with my thoughts, still reflecting upon the dreams that had filled my sleep, and seem somehow relevant and worthy of further consideration.
When I got back to the car, it was still very much the start of a new day. I’ve got a short list of things to pick up at the store and a plan to go to the local nursery for some gardening items and inspiration. (It’s already time to think about Spring!) I feel an extra bit of relaxed delight with the day; it’s a three day weekend and I am in no hurry.
I sat for a moment after changing back to sneakers from hiking boots, just thinking my thoughts. The misty rain began to fall again, as if that pause in the rain had been just for me, to get my walk without being soaked. lol I enjoy the happy coincidence with a helping of whimsy before I begin again.
Sometimes all it takes to change my perspective is a difference in timing. I woke a bit later than usual and immediately headed out to get a walk in, first thing on this windy gray Saturday morning. The weather is blustery and chilly, but not particularly cold, and between the later start time and the slow seasonal change to the timing of the sunrise, it’s already daybreak, just barely, when I get to the trailhead. The park gate hasn’t yet opened, and I wait with quiet eagerness.
Yesterday was fun and encouraging. My Traveling Partner got his first work day since he got hurt handled and it went well. Together, later, we assembled an inversion table (hopefully it’s a helpful piece of gear for his continued recovery), without any cross words at all, in spite of my fatigue at the end of the day. It was fun.
Today kicks off a long weekend, but I didn’t make any particular plans. Housekeeping, and caring for my partner will likely take up much of my time. I could possibly get going on the taxes. Maybe I will get out into the garden? (That sounds lovely…)
The wind rocks the car and howls past me, whipping the trees back and forth. Occasional raindrops spatter the windshield as I wait for the clang of the gate opening.
I have no idea what the weekend holds, but I have this trail ahead of me, and this lovely morning, and I am ready to begin again.
I’m sipping my coffee contentedly and watching daybreak slowly develop from the foggy night.
The fog adds a hint of mystery to a familiar view.
The sky is suddenly filled with bodies; a murder of crows rising from the trees, forming a vast murmuration that swirls betwixt and around the buildings that surround the park just beyond the window. Their cacophony fills the air, and I find myself wondering what they are saying about the morning. It’s a chilly one. Exceptionally cold compared to most Winter mornings this year at 32 degrees Fahrenheit, but still, just barely freezing. I’m comfortable and warm, and grateful for it.
I smile and sip my coffee. I think about words and language and why a flock of crows is called a “murder”? It’s a lovely quiet morning in most respects. It’s a pleasant one, too, and yesterday’s difficulties seem distant and mostly forgotten. Very human. So often whatever is “now” seems mostly to have “always been this way” – it’s a most peculiar cognitive error. I find myself wondering what purpose it serves (or once served a more primitive version of this human experience)?
My calendar is quite full today. I face it without any particular stress. It’s been a week of doctor’s appointments (largely a byproduct of once again having medical coverage through my employer – I’m catching up on things health-wise), but today is free of that “planned chaos”. I sigh quietly. I appreciate myself for having avoided scheduling something into every single day of this week. lol “Way to do the self-care thing properly!” I think to myself, encouragingly. (I’ve been working on taking a kinder tone with myself, and making a point of ensuring my internal monologue is more positive than it has tended to be, historically.)
The sky continues to lighten. The crows have settled into the trees once more – or moved on to parts unknown to do whatever it is that crows do at this hour of the morning. I wonder about that for a moment before moving on, myself.
I run my fingers through my hair and feel the softness of it. The sensation is a pleasant one, but reminds me that I’m overdue to get my hair cut. My bangs are all but gone, and my layers are growing out. lol Funny bit of vanity. I catch myself enthusiastically thinking about getting it cut today, then pull myself back and remind myself of the busy calendar I just reviewed. lol It would not go well for my planning if I squeezed a hair cut into the day – or week. Too much already planned. I think ahead to next week, and chuckle; I’ll likely forget all about it until the week is underway and already planned. It’s just not that important to me. I let it go; it’s something to deal with some other time.
What matters most? I sip my coffee and think ahead to Spring and hiking and camping and getting away out in the trees or on the high desert somewhere under a big sky. When? The weather has been rather mild (locally) this Winter. I wonder when Spring temperatures will be steadily above 50 at night and above 70 in the daytime? I sit thinking about it, eager to begin planning… The time is not now. Not because it’s too soon to plan, but because the sky reminds me that it is a new day. Somewhere beyond the fog the sun has risen, or soon will. The smooth homogenous gray of the sky beyond the windows reminds me that the work day has begun. Planning for another day, another adventure, can wait awhile; it’s already time to begin again.
I’m waiting, again, at a trailhead. Daybreak is here and the gate to the nature preserve will open shortly. It’s a new day.
The view from a parking space, looking towards the highway.
I breathe, exhale, relax… and listen through the ringing in my ears for the clang of the gate opening.
Yesterday, in my impatience to get going, I walked in the pre-dawn twilight just at daybreak on a very cloudy morning. I started out with my headlamp on, and needed it. I find the walking both less satisfying and also riskier at that hour, and this morning I am taking a more patient approach.
… Strangely, it’s definitely “dawn” now and the visibility is quite good, but the gate has not yet opened. Quite odd. I find myself wondering if the sensor is broken, and whether I will be waiting a long while for a park ranger to come by to open it…? Curious, I check the website, which still says the trails are open “dawn to dusk”. The gate across the driveway up to the main parking area and year-round trailhead disagrees. Most peculiar.
I sigh quietly and work on managing my frustration and disappointment. There are other trails nearby. I could choose differently and don’t have to wait… I sit with that thought awhile. What to do?
… I hear the clang. It’s time to begin again.
Later. The morning air along the edge of the marsh smelled rather like aquarium water. The migratory birds gathered in groups here and there were waking for the day and beginning to take flight. The sky lightened to shades of blue and pale gray. A soft misty rain began to fall. I walked on, smiling.
I’m waiting for the sun, or at least daybreak. Enough light to make out the trail so I can get started on my walk this morning, would be enough, actually. I woke earlier than necessary and also failed to get up and out the door without waking my Traveling Partner. Shit. Well, I did try.
I woke with a headache and feeling rather… cross? Gloomy? Pointlessly aggravated for no reason. I refuse to capitulate to my relatively crappy mood, since it fails every reality check. There’s nothing amiss and it’s a lovely morning in every respect, aside from my mood. Emotional weather. It’ll pass, like any rain shower.
… I know my mood will improve after a walk along the marsh, and down the path past the river, listening to the birds and breezes. My Traveling Partner pings me to share a video, bringing a smile to my face. I feel loved and this headache doesn’t change that.
I watch the sky begin to lighten with a sliver of dawn down low against the horizon, silhouetting Mt Hood in the distance. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s almost time to begin again.
Evening Light 