I’m on the trail this morning. It’s been a few days. There aren’t many changes. The morning is foggy and chilly, but not really cold. This trail is mostly paved and about half of it is lit by parking lot and walkway lights. The dense fog makes everything look mysterious and a little spooky.
Foggy winter morning on a journey that is the destination.
I get to the last bench along the trail, not quite halfway. Daybreak? Sort of. The sky is beginning to lighten, and faint silhouettes begin to be visible as shapes in the fog. I set down the hot coffee I’ve been walking with, switching hands now and then for warmth. I write a few words.
It feels good to be on the trail, even as chilly as it is. I also really appreciate that I’ve finally (re)developed local options for comfortably working from an alternate location, without a long drive. I sip my coffee and let the cup warm my hands again. I listen to the quiet.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. My breath forms a cloud that mingles with the fog.
My Traveling Partner pings me details to do with a work project he is in the middle of. I reflexively look at his messages, although ideally I’d be here, in this place, enjoying a moment of solitude, focused and present in the moment. It is habit after almost two years of trying to maintain constant awareness that he may need me at any moment. I’m finding it a difficult habit to correct. Life is like that, though; we walk our path, overcoming obstacles, and learning new ways. Those ways don’t always prove useful indefinitely. Detours. Bumps and potholes and a variety of potential pitfalls. We take the journey a step at a time, seeking the best path forward and balancing the awareness of the path immediately ahead, while also giving the destination attention. Losing sight of one could result in injury, losing sight of the other could result getting lost.
…Funny what a good metaphor for living life walking this trail can be…
I sigh as I get to my feet. It’s time to finish my walk and start my day. I finish my coffee before it goes cold, and then begin again.
It is New Year’s Day, January 1st, 2026. I woke up early, no hangover, feeling pretty relaxed and comfortable in my body after a good night’s sleep. This is only surprising because quite a few of the neighbors were up well into the night setting off fireworks and celebrating the end of 2025. Sounded like quite a lot of enthusiasm to see it end.
I’d gone to bed early, still struggling with lingering symptoms of recent illness and just not feeling up to a lot of fuss and bother. The sound of fireworks did not prevent me from sleeping. No parties, no drinking, no fancy dinner, no company over to ring in the new year; it was a quiet evening at home. It’s not surprising that I slept well and woke without a hangover.
The year ended somewhat painfully, with one final “fuck you” from circumstances delivered on the last day of the year. My parked car was sideswiped by something while I was working yesterday, which I discovered when I left the office to return home. Fuck. For real?! I cried. I pinged my Traveling Partner for comfort and guidance (too upset to easily process next steps), then called my insurance company to file a claim, and then local police department to file a report. By the time I got home, I was merely annoyed, and managing to feel grateful it hadn’t been worse. The damage to the car is cosmetic, and I wasn’t injured. It definitely could have been worse!
I sip my hot cup of cheap gas station coffee, listening to the rain falling at this trailhead, and thinking about how much my choices create my experience in some circumstances, and how circumstances sometimes create an experience I didn’t see coming, in others. I still have to deal it, with regardless of my previous choices or circumstances. It’s a journey. I do have choices and something to say about the experience I have. Powerful. Knowing this does nothing to prevent me from being upset when things go poorly, just reminds me there’s a lot about it that remains within my capabilities to handle, manage, control, or deal with properly.
… I’m still mad, though, I mean, for real? I have lingering “why me?” feelings, but I’ve done what I can for now…
I left the house this morning feeling a muted sense of purpose, and undecided on what trail to walk. It was early. I’ve got options. It is a cold morning, but not freezing. As I get into the car, it begins to rain. My nose is running and I’ve started coughing – taking my noisy sleepless self back into the house would only serve to wake everyone else, too. I don’t feel like dealing with that, so I head out in spite of the rain. It’s not cold enough to snow – I guess I’m grateful.
Now I’m sitting here at the trailhead, waiting for a break in the rain, and maybe for daylight. There’s no traffic beyond the parking lot. The morning is quiet and suited to meditation and self-reflection. It’s a gentle beginning to a new year. I make a point not to look at the news; I don’t want to do anything that might break this fragile moment of peace and contentment. Not yet. Later will be soon enough to begin again.
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… I can’t believe I’m still dealing with being sick… Maybe I’ll just go back to bed after I return home? Anyway… Happy New Year!
First light on the trail, first morning hike of the new year.
Weird dreams last night, surreal and strange, filled with conversations with long gone friends, and with my Dad (deceased, for many years now). It all seemed very real at the time. I woke feeling disoriented and somehow misplaced.
The drive to the trailhead was quiet and uneventful. No traffic at all, this morning, which is eerie enough on its own, but with the freezing stillness of winter and the fog, it was very spooky. The world looked as if it was being rendered immediately in front of me as I approached, and erased behind me. The morning is dark and cold, properly wintry, frost sparkling under street lights, and the temperature only 30°F (about -1°C?). Nothing looks icy, just frosty, but the highway feels different around the curves and on the bridges and overpasses. I take my time and drive with care. There is no rush. It’s Sunday.
The parking lot at the nature park is empty. No surprise there, I suppose; there aren’t many people who enjoy a walk in this cold so early in the morning. Same with me. I’m not here, now, preparing to walk because I have a fondness for walking in the dark on a freezing winter morning! It just happens that I wake quite early, and this is the timing that has developed over years of practice. I wake and begin my day with a walk, generally. Exceptions are rare. What I do enjoy greatly, even on a freezing morning (and much of the point of this practice is about this characteristic), is the solitude. Time alone with my thoughts is precious.
Before dawn, with a longer exposure; the picture is not the reality.
A hint of daybreak coming is evident in a subtle change in visibility. The sky seems faintly lighter, the silhouettes of the trees darker and more clearly outlined against the sky. Details of my surroundings are becoming clearer. In the cold, I won’t be inclined to stop for long at my halfway point, and I won’t want to write with stiff cold hands. I take my time with it now, before I step out onto the trail.
My head aches. My tinnitus is loud. My arthritis is griefing me. My sinuses are congested with the lingering effects of having been ill. I could go on; being human can be messy, annoying, uncomfortable, and unpleasant. None of that shit is “the important stuff”, is it? Just distractions and obstacles on the path, right? Human. If I give in and let all the mundanities of pain and aging and illness command my attention completely, it tends to diminish the joy and beauty and wonder that are also very much part of this experience. Which has more value – watching daybreak unfold into a new day, or being vexed by pain? Where we focus our attention has a lot to do with the quality of our experience in a given moment. I sit with that thought as I watch the sky slowly change from night to day, content to enjoy this moment as it is.
I sigh quietly, thinking about 2025. It’s nearly over. There’s a whole new year queued up, ready for whatever we make of it. I have no “resolutions” or grand plans. I do have practices, and hopes for the future, and a handful of intentions I’d like to make good on. There are always verbs involved. My results reliably vary; this is a very human experience. I will do, and fail, and learn from my failures, and begin again. Sure, I’ll likely also succeed many times, and celebrate those successes, but I’m not likely to learn as much from them. (I hope to be appropriately grateful for the circumstances that are pleasant and comfortable. I hope to be gracious about help, and sufficiently self-aware to understand that I’m not “getting there” alone.)
We become what we practice. Choose wisely.
Dawn comes. Fog clings in the low places, obscuring the marsh trail and the meadow. It’s a bit warmer (35°F, now, about 1.5°C I think). Better for walking. I wrap my scarf around my neck, and pull my knit hat on. I look down the trail, feeling fortunate for this quiet solitary moment. It’s time to begin, again.
I woke rather randomly, feeling cozy and warm and not at all inclined to get up. I got up and dressed and left the house quietly, because it was clear that I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. I’d already “slept in”, for some values of sleeping in; it was 15 minutes later than I commonly wake. I feel rested. It’s fine.
The car was frosted, sparkling under the street lights, and the car door opened with a crackle, and some resistance. The morning air was quite cold. This is only the second hard frost of the season, the last one being weeks ago. Between them, it’s been mild and rainy. I started the car, and waited for it to defrost enough to see, and to warm up the engine. It’s not ridiculously cold, just freezing. I found myself grateful for the warm layers I put on this morning, without thinking much about the weather – it just happened to be what I had laid out last night as “options”. I wasn’t really thinking about options as I dressed, and I just put things on piece by piece, until I was dressed. I’m warm and comfortable. Suits the colder morning.
The trailhead parking is empty. I arrive before daybreak. It’s a little warmer here. Although still cold, it’s not freezing. Gloves, scarf, hoodie over sweater, cane in hand – I’m as ready as I’m going to get, but the cold and darkness are unappealing, and the frosty trail running alongside the marsh pond is more hazardous than it appears in some spots, and likely to be slick with frosty fallen leaves. I decide to wait for daybreak, more light, and maybe a degree or two of additional warmth. I’m in no hurry, it’s Saturday. I can write from the warmth and shelter of the car, sparing myself the experience of writing from the trail with freezing hands. I somehow doubt I will find sitting at my halfway point at all appealing on this wintry morning.
I stretch and yawn, listening to the traffic pass on the nearby highway. There’s not much of that this morning, only enough to keep me aware that this is not wilderness, and I already knew that. 😆
The darkness begins to ease, ever so slightly. I see hints of almost blue sky beyond the clouds, above the eastern horizon. It’s not quite 07:00… I sit quietly considering the lengthening days, noting with some small measure of wonder that the change is already so obvious. I don’t honestly prefer to walk in the darkness, it just happens to be “convenient”, for some values of “convenience”. I’m looking forward to seeing the sun rise as I walk this trail. It won’t be long; Spring is on the way.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation first, walking after, this morning. I’m okay with that. I do find habits, routines, and practices very useful, but being fixated on sequences or timing can create needless anxiety any time I deviate from some pattern that developed over time. That’s not healthy nor ideally flexible, and the day-to-day variance in timing and the order in which I do things prevents me from becoming “stuck” or inflexible. Rather than fight it, I try to embrace it without being bothered by it. Change is. I’ve found tremendous value in accepting impermanence and practicing non-attachment. Another breath, another exhalation, another glance at the horizon.
I sit with my thoughts awhile, reflecting on who I have become over the years. We become what we practice. This is reliably true. If you don’t like some characteristic of who you are, it’s very likely to be entirely within your ability to change that, through your own actions and decisions, with practice. Are your behaviors what you want them to be? Are you “your best self”, living your best life? What will you change today to become more that person you most want to be? What qualities make a person of “good character”? Do you embody those characteristics? You could, with practice. It’s your journey – your path to choose. Choose wisely.
One winter morning
The way ahead is visible. The path is clear. It’s time to begin again, I suppose. I wrap my scarf around me, button my cardigan, and pull on my knit hat. Every journey begins with a step, and it looks like a great day to practice being the person I most want to be.
Giftmas comes and goes. It was delightful. I sit with my thoughts for a little while, waiting for the sun, or perhaps for the rain to slow to a sprinkle. This particular Giftmas is one to remember fondly, for sure; it was lovely from the first sip of my morning coffee to the last quiet moment as I drifted off to sleep. “No notes.” I wouldn’t change a thing about the holiday this year, even if I could.
The delights of this particularly good Giftmas holiday reminded me how little it is about the money being spent. This is a holiday season of limited resources for many people (including us), and we kept our budgets pretty minimal for this gifting holiday. More went into shared experiences, and far less into individual gifts. That’s okay, too. It was a fantastic holiday. (I hope yours was, too.) It was enough, and felt incredibly warm and connected and satisfying. Joyful.
… And it’s on to the next one; New Year’s Eve and day are coming up next, and only days away. Different celebration, different meaning and different milestones to observe. This year, as with every year of my adulthood, I’ll take One Hour for myself, at some point during the day, and I’ll honor the holiday by taking down all the holiday decor and putting it away again for another year. I find that it symbolizes change and renewal beautifully. It’s my way.
The rain stops. It’s still dark, and my boots hit the pavement with an unexpected splash; I am parked in a slight low spot, and step directly into a puddle in the darkness. I shrug that off, hopping quickly to dry pavement without soaking my boots through. Wet feet make an uncomfortable walk. I take my time, appreciative that for the moment, my feet don’t hurt. (I’ve been dealing with a flare up of plantar fasciitis for a few days.)
I thought about the holidays from this in between moment, as I walked to my halfway point. Capella (I think) is bright in the night sky, visible in a break in the clouds. I marvel silently over the gifts that stand out most in my recollection, some of which are promises of future delight (an interesting spice blend in a really cute little tin comes to mind), and others that will provide lasting comfort and joyful recollection (ooh, fuzzy warm spa socks!). Coloring books. (Yep, I’m a grown woman and an artist of many years experience – I still manage to be thoroughly delighted by a selection of cute coloring books.) lol I feel fortunate to share the holiday with people who get that what matters most is something unrelated to money. It’s the connection, the warmth, the sharing, and the sentimental fun of it all, far more than anything to do with a pricetag, I think.
… For a moment I wonder about what the person who won the more than one billion dollar Powerball prize on Giftmas Eve may have felt, somewhere in Arkansas (definitely a life-changing amount of money)…
The clock keeps on ticking, the wheel keeps turning, as the seasons change, and each milestone in a single human life is reached, then recedes into memory. This journey is the destination. How many steps (and practices, and changes over time) went into getting to this moment, and this beautiful holiday? So many. You may not be where you want to be in your life, right now, but you can choose to walk a path that may get you there – no guarantees that once you reach one goal or another that you will still see that outcome as “what you want” once you have achieved it. We’re somewhat more complicated than that, and we tend to “move the goalposts” as we play the game. There’s no map. No user’s guide. You choose your path. You define what success looks like. You do the work. Your life, on your terms – if you choose to accept the responsibility.
I sit at my halfway point watching the stars overhead twinkling brightly. It barely feels like winter here at all. The atmospheric river that brought the rain also brought these very mild temperatures. Like most things, it’s not likely to last. Winter will bring its icy blast at some point, but for now I enjoy the mild morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take a few minutes in the predawn stillness for meditation.
Daybreak comes, the sky begins to lighten, I begin again; this path isn’t going to walk itself!
Evening Light 