Archives for category: solo hiking
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Unexpected Possum

November 7, 2025 //
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I woke unnecessarily early. My Traveling Partner, already up, looked in on me as I slept, “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “Mmhmm” I mumbled through my CPAP mask. I started to sit up, awake, to say something, but he was already gone. For a moment, I wasn’t sure he’d actually wakened me.

I got up.  It was already too close to that time, and even as groggy as I was, going back to sleep wouldn’t have gotten me more rest, and definitely would have caused me to struggle with being groggy all morning. I have a busy morning ahead and a brief presentation to give, I don’t have time to waste on being groggy. lol

I left the house in the usual way, but as I walked toward the car, I saw something bunched up at the edge of the yard. Trash? A plastic bag or…? Nope. It turned around and looked at me, with its strange white face and small black eyes. A possum (the biggest I’ve ever seen in person). She stared at me for a moment as if she didn’t quite believe it, either, before taking off awkwardly ambling quickly, then running – across the yard, through the rose bushes, and under the neighbor’s car. I lost sight of her there, though I heard her scrambling through leaves on the other side. I realized that I’d been just standing there watching, and moved on, myself.

Well… I guess that proves there are possums in the woods beyond the yard. I’m not saying I needed proof , but now I definitely know. lol (I considered taking a picture, but couldn’t get my camera ready fast enough, so quickly decided to enjoy the moment as it was.)

…Strange sort of morning so far…

Heading to the trailhead, I had to pull over for a few moments when a sneezing fit overcame me so thoroughly I couldn’t see to drive. Weird. I take a minute to deal with that, then drive on. As I reach the trailhead, I see the moon overhead, a luminous pearl of haunting beauty, resting among pillowy clouds. It looks full, but I think it is waning. I don’t care enough to look it up, I just enjoy the sight of it.

I pull into my preferred parking spot, and my headlights reveal a mature buck, standing just ahead, in the field adjacent to the parking. There something about his stance that hints at aggression, somehow, or a defensive reaction to something that he sees, but I don’t see anything alarming. I wait in the car until he walks on, my eyes scanning the strip of meadow, and the vineyard beyond, looking for hazards or threats. I don’t see anything. Maybe it was my arrival that vexed the buck as he stood minding his own business on a Friday morning at the edge of dawn?

The moon begins to sink lower as I begin my walk. “Aren’t we all just creatures living our lives?”, I think to myself as I head down the path. Possums and deer, coyotes and bobcats, geese and bluejays, jackasses and idiots, all mixed together in this peculiar world, each doing their own best to live their lives; it’s an interesting world full of adventure and opportunity, and things to see.

The jewel of the night sky.

There’s nothing noteworthy or remarkable about the first half of my walk. I get to my halfway point, enjoying the moonlight. Although I have my headlamp with me, I only turn it on when the clouds hide the moon. I love the ephemeral beauty of the moonlit trail. I don’t have a lot of opportunities to walk in the moonlight these days. I sleep better than I used to.

Four day weekend ahead, for me. Veterans Day is Tuesday, and I took Monday off, too. I don’t have exotic plans. It’s a “holiday” for reflection, and honoring comrades who made it home, but couldn’t carry on. I’ll make time to connect with colleagues from the Cold War era of my military service, and those with whom I went to war, later. There are fewer survivors these days. We are mortal creatures, and one day the last of us will perhaps be talking about me, and remembering me when.

… I hope I am remembered best for the woman I eventually became, and whatever good I have done, and not for the worst of who I once was in a life full of chaos and damage…

I sigh quietly. Gloomy thoughts for such a lovely morning, but at least I’m not having to fight thinking about work. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Such a busy mind. I take time to meditate and calm my mind. This few minutes of meditation in the morning helps set me up for lasting success all day. If I begin the morning spun up over stressful bullshit, and world events I can’t change, or work (before the work day even begins), the entire day feels frantic, stressful, and covered in “fail sauce”. I definitely don’t need that, and cultivating a consistent meditation practice and enjoying a solitary walk each morning has been a big change for the better. It took time and practice to get here, but it has paid off.

Daybreak comes. The moon disappears behind thick clouds that threaten rain. I frown at the stormy sky; I walked away from the car without my poncho this morning, distracted by moonlight. Shit. I should head back before it rains… I keep sitting quietly, enjoying the moment. I already know a little rain won’t do me any harm. It’ll be time to begin again soon enough, and these lovely moments are so fleeting in a mortal life.

A new day dawns – what will you do with it?

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts, watching the treeline take shape as daylight comes. A gentle steady rain begins to fall. I smile as I get to my feet, looking down the trail. Another beginning. Another opportunity to be the person I most want to be.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War

One Foot In Front Of The Other

November 5, 2025 //
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In spite of taking some weekend time to properly relax and rest, and in spite of sleeping decently well lately, and in spite of having some help and rearranging things to reduce my day-to-day workload, I’m tired. Not the physical fatigue of effort exerted, instead it is the consuming, distracting, encroaching loss of will and focus that comes from “too much for too long” and I really need a break from… everything. It’s dumb. I feel as if I am literally fatigued by living life. I’ve got to do a better job of self-care, before I face legitimate burnout.

…Seems like there is always another chore to do, or another errand to run…

I start the morning already tired, already feeling “over it”, and the work day hasn’t even started. It’s raining at the trailhead, and I’m in pain before I even start my walk. I’m going to walk, anyway, it is a favorite self-care practice, and it is in the very nature of a practice to be practiced. I sigh to myself, feeling annoyed by everything but the solitude, and start down the path, one step at a time.

Eventually, I reach my halfway point. As I stop, the rain stops too. My rain poncho, which has been flapping against my legs as I walk, or wrapping annoyingly around me in the wind, becomes something to be grateful for; it’s keeping me dry, sitting here on this very wet bench. My sour mood is sweetened a bit by the moment of sincere gratitude. I sit with that feeling for s little while. It’s better than being cranky, by far.

The morning is still dark, and I persist in yearning for a weekend that is still days away. It’s time to plan the Thanksgiving dinner. Time to figure out the holidays generally. Life feels ludicrously busy. No wonder I’m tired. I rarely give my mind enough rest. I breathe, exhale, and relax. These quiet moments in the mornings are so necessary to my mental health overall – but they are not enough to prevent me from exhausting myself over time. I need to do a better job of setting boundaries, and pacing myself – and asking for (and accepting) help.

…It is proving to be quite difficult to adjust from full-time caregiving back to a more evenly balanced partnership, even though it’s timely, appropriate, and necessary…

I sit listening to the rain sprinkling the leaves that still cling to the trees, and spattering my poncho. I enjoy the delicate not quite random percussion. I breathe the rain-fresh autumn air. My tinnitus is crazy loud this morning, so I don’t hear much in the predawn quiet, besides the zing and buzz of tinnitus, the pattering of raindrops, and my breathing. As if to call me a liar (or to expand my perspective), an HVAC system somewhere nearby comes on, and adds its tones to the background noise. I chuckle to myself; it’s definitely not personal. It’s just noise.

Daybreak comes. It is a gray rainy morning under a soggy overcast sky. A deer startles me walking past. I didn’t see her approach. I twitch, startled. My movement startles her in turn, and she gives a little jump then runs off to the side, into the trees. As she disappears, I see that she was not alone, and wonder how long I sat quietly, surrounded by the herd (three does, four fawns, and a stately buck with branching antlers), before they began to walk on. Do they recognize me? (“Mama, that weird creature is back.” “Don’t get to close to that thing, you don’t know where it’s been.”) I wonder if they mind the rain?

I don’t much feel like getting on with the day, really, but there are chores, and errands, and work to be done, and all these damned practices aren’t going to practice themselves. I laugh at my eagerness to do nothing at all…or maybe to paint… either way, now is not that time. The weekend ahead is a long one (for me), for the Veterans Day holiday. I’m looking forward to that. Right now though, it’s time to begin again, and I get to my feet to head on down the path ahead, one foot ahead of the other, a step at a time. (That’s how progress is made, after all.)

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Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

The Path We Choose

November 3, 2025 //
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It is early morning on an ordinary Monday. I’m awake, and feeling as if I’d slept in, but that’s more to do with the end of Daylight Savings Time than anything else. I got up and dressed and left the house without waking anyone, as far as I could tell. I reached the trailhead before daybreak and got to my halfway point before sunrise. The sky is just barely showing any hint of daylight yet-to-come.

It can sometimes feel as if my choices are very limited, or potentially even that I “have no choice” in some moment of stress or urgency. That’s rarely true. Just this morning, getting to this ordinary location for an everyday experience that is quite commonplace for me, I made many choices. Fleece or cardigan? Put my boots on while seated on the edge of the bed, or carry them down the hall and put them on right before I leave? Hair pulled back, worn in a twist, or loose? Grab a yogurt drink or a bottle of water on my way out? Do I need to stop for gas? Most of these choices happened almost in the background, requiring very little of my attention. They’re still choices.

I smile to myself in the darkness. I’m okay with my choices so far, today. If I weren’t, I could begin again, and walk a different path (literally or metaphorically). The small everyday choices may seem insignificant, but they say something about my values, and how well I do (or don’t) live them. That’s information worth having. It can be hard to correct the path we walk, if we don’t notice we’ve stepped off that path.

A sprinkling of rain begins to fall. I can continue on, until I reach the parking lot, or I can turn back. In this instance, the choice won’t be about distance; it’s about the same either way. 😂 I laugh and pull my tightly folded rain poncho out of my pocket, and pull it over my head. It was a smart choice to bring it, I think to myself. Then the rain stops, making it completely irrelevant. It rained only long enough to make my poncho too wet to shove back in my pocket. I chuckle to myself. Sometimes choices do work out that way. I don’t really mind being unnecessarily prepared. It’s far better than being unprepared.

I think about the day ahead. Am I prepared? Ready to make choices? Ready to do the many verbs awaiting me further up life’s path? I don’t know… I’m at least ready to begin. Again.

It starts to sprinkle again, and I get to my feet, ready to walk on. Prepared.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Words

Walking in Fog

November 2, 2025 //
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It is morning. Daybreak seems to come early, but it’s only the end of Daylight Savings Time here in the US. In terms of reality and the nature of time, or the timing of various celestial events, nothing actually changed. I walked the trail in the gloom as daybreak came, wrapped in autumn fog on the marsh, and grateful for my warm sweater and the soft fuzzy fleece I threw on over that.

Halfway to somewhere.

The trees form from the mist as I approach them. The morning is spooky and magical, and very quiet. I don’t hear any traffic on the nearby highway, only my footsteps and my breath. I keep walking, heading for my halfway point, and a moment to pause, meditate, and watch the dawn become a new day, before walking on down the trail and out of the fog.

At my halfway point, I stop. I sit. I write. I think. I observe. As day brightens, I see a small cluster of shapes out at the edge of the meadow. Deer. I think it’s likely to be the same small herd I often see here, when I walk this trail. Two mature does resting in the tall grass, partially hidden, and their young born this year, already losing their spots, are accompanied by a buck who stands alert and watchful a short distance away. He seems less concerned with me than whatever may be unseen in the trees beyond the meadow. I watch quietly. Color slowly becomes part of the view, as daylight begins to brighten the meadow and marsh. I see fall colors on the trees, now. The buck raises his head and changes his posture. Something has his attention, and his movement communicates something to his family. They rise from their resting place and join him, as he walks away. They move along quickly, quietly, and disappear into the fog.

I sit where I am, perched on this fence rail, awhile longer. I’m in no hurry. There is, sadly, war going on in the world, and where there is no clearly defined war going on, there may be conflict with less clearly defined sides. In both cases, the outcome for many innocent noncombatants is unchanged: violence, chaos, trauma, suffering, and possibly death. I sigh quietly. Humanity could already be beyond warfare if we chose to put it aside as an artifact of more primitive times. War is ugly, destructive, and there are no actual winners besides those who profit from it. Everyone else loses. War has no positive outcome that could not be more easily obtained (with greater value) without bloodshed. We’re pretty fucking stupid about some shit, as creatures go.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and pull my awareness back to this moment, here, in the middle of this meadow, alongside the foggy autumn marsh on a November morning at dawn. There is no war, no conflict, here. Just the quiet and the fog, and the steadfast oaks standing nearby, partially obscured by the fog. It feels rather as if anything could be out there in the mist, waiting to be discovered. I swing my feet contentedly, breathing the chilly autumn air, filling my lungs with it, and releasing my wartime worries into the fog with each exhalation.

I remind myself to make self-care a priority.

I spend a few minutes thinking about the day ahead. There is housekeeping to do, later. I think about my untidy personal space at home. It is my office, my studio, my meditation space, and my getaway when I need a quiet moment. The relative orderliness there (or lack of it) often signals my general stress level and state of emotional health. It’s a bit less tidy than I’d ideally like, right now, and it reflects my background stress level pretty accurately. Maybe today I’ll spend some time sorting that out? I know I’ll feel better once I do, that’s just real (and a tiny bit funny).

I sigh as I get to my feet. I take a big deep breath of the cold morning air on the marsh and look up the trail where it disappears into the fog, so mysterious, so promising. I glance at the time. Just as I thought – it’s time to begin again. 😁

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War

Those Howling Winds

November 1, 2025 //
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Here it is, the morning of All Saints Day, the Day of the Dead in some traditions. The wind blows fiercely, wuthering and howling past the car, and rocking it as it blows past. Autumn leaves fall, blown sideways they gather in drifts against curbs and embankments. The sturdy oaks sway stiffly in the wind. Even in the predawn darkness, I see their shapes tossing to and fro against the backdrop of the pale stormy sky illuminated from below.

I stepped out of the car at the trailhead, and was almost knocked off my feet by the wind. The everyday challenges of life seem far away and insignificant right now; there’s this wind to deal with first. My hair is lifted, tossed, and tangled by the wind. It pushes me to the side of the trail, as if each new gust seeks to push me into the marsh, or off the edge of the bank into the lake. The wind howls through the trees, insistent. Then it begins to rain. First a sprinkle, then a downpour.

I’m nearer to the photographer’s blind than I am to my usual halfway point. I’m grateful to find it unlocked. The trailhead parking is farther on, and I’d have been soaked to the skin trying to make it back up the trail, blinded by the wind-driven rain. Inside the blind I’m sheltered. It’s quite noisy. The blind is a small box-shape constructed of wood. Some effort to camouflage it has also served to make it mostly safe from the rain. There’s no floor, but a small crate serves as a seat. The view of the marsh and the small lake and ponds that dot it is very good, with views of east and west. No windows, really, just openings covered by hinged drop down panels that can be propped open, for a photographer’s convenience. With the wind blowing the rain about so wildly, I open only one, and only about halfway, letting the rain drip off of it. Very little rain makes it into the blind, although the dirt floor manages to be soft and a little muddy, anyway.

I sigh contentedly. I enjoy the sound of the rain on the wood roof of the photographer’s blind. Daybreak soon. I listen for a break in the rain, without being stressed over time or progress. It’s quite early and I have no reason to hurry. After my walk, my Saturday routine will take me to the grocery store, and I’ll run any other errands on the way home, after that. Very ordinary, “nothing to see here”, and I smile to myself. I have lived through some exciting times. I’ll take ordinary, and embrace and enjoy it. There is plenty of joy and satisfaction to be found in life’s ordinary moments. I’m not chasing adventure. It’s not any lack of enthusiasm for new experiences or fear of the unknown, I just personally think excitement, generally, is overvalued. I’m rarely bored as an individual, and any time I might seem to be facing boredom, I quickly move on to… something. There’s always something. It’s a big world and the menu in The Strange Diner is vast and full of options.

Daybreak comes. The rain falls as a dense misty curtain, obscuring the view of the marsh. I see the trees more clearly, tossing wildly in the wind. Stormy morning. I sigh, resigned to a very rainy walk back to the trailhead. Not yet, though.

A fluffy mass tucked against the corner of a narrow “shelf”, created by the exposed interior 2 x 4s which the blind is built from, shifts as if alive, and I see that I’m not alone here. Some small mammal has built its nest inside the blind. Field mice maybe? I scooch back a bit and watch without making any move to disturb the nest. The sky outside is now a dirty looking gray. “Sunrise” has come, colorless and subtle, revealed only by the view taking on more detail. It barely counts as “daylight”.

… Stormy weather…

The rain slows to a sprinkle. I’m not expecting that to last and quickly plan my exit and the shortest route to the parking, and get to my feet as I exit the blind. It’s clearly time to get out of the marsh. The path is partly covered in rainwater – or is this the lake beginning to rise beyond the bank? In either case, it’s time to begin again.

As I cross the marsh, I think I see someone else on the trail, in spite of the rain… but I quickly lose sight of them, and find myself wondering if they were ever even there… It is, after all, the Day of the Dead, and life is full of mysteries.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being
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