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Spooky Quiet

September 27, 2026 //
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I set off down the trail in the darkness. There’s a full moon shining through the trees, and the trail is muddy, which I did not expect.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

A full moon, a quiet morning.

My Traveling Partner is up early. He pings me several times. Conversation. I set expectations that the trail is muddy and lacks good stopping points where it follows the river. I still struggle not to respond to every message (from him, specifically) immediately. He returns with his own expectation setting; this is my problem to solve. He says he was hoping I’d stop responding to everything immediately and let him drink his coffee. 😆 Fucking hell, we’re an interesting pair. I turn off my ringer and continue walking.

… It’s definitely an improvement to give my full attention to the moment I’m in, and the trail I am on…

The moon sinks below the trees, and the darkness is …darker. It is spooky quiet on the trail this morning. There was one other vehicle at the trailhead this morning. Somewhere along the trail here is another person. I am alert and a little wary. I slip on a slick bit of mud and fallen leaves and stop for a moment to let my heartbeat slow back down to something more normal. That was scary.

I reach my halfway point still in darkness. No river picture this morning, not yet. It isn’t even daybreak yet. I sit thinking about my difficulty with disregarding that unique notification sound that means my Traveling Partner and no one else. There are times when it is hazardous or problematic in some way, to be texting. Sometimes it is important to hold focus on the task I am engaged with. Sometimes I may be having a conversation with a human being standing in front of me, or just juggling packages awkwardly. My beloved is such a high priority in my life, I forget everything else and grab my phone immediately when I hear that notification.  This does need to be corrected (he’s right about that); it affects my safety, and he is no longer needing continuous care (barely ever needs help).

… Turning notifications off temporarily does work (very well), but sometimes I forget to turn them back on (very human)…

It’s not as if I don’t check my phone often enough when I can. This is fine. It isn’t worth stress. It doesn’t need a more complicated solution than turning off my ringer when I’m hiking, driving, or in a meeting. 😂

I sit with my thoughts in the dark. Now is a good time to check messages; I’m sitting still. 😆 A new message from my Traveling Partner assuring me he’s not mad and wanting to clarify that. A flurry of loving cute stickers follow. I like the stickers, they reinforce the message in a loving way. I find myself nodding and smiling. Sometimes communication is hard. This morning it’s easier.

Daybreak finally comes to this forested hollow on the riverbank. The trees around me take on a strange lacey appearance, silhouetted against the paler blue-gray of the dawn sky. It still feels quite dark. The call of an owl somewhere nearby seems to agree. I hear footsteps (and a dog?) coming down the slope of the trail, just beyond the next bend, and draw back into the shadows reflexively.

I hear a male voice. He becomes visible as he comes around the bend, just a guy and his dog, leashed. I relax a bit, and I’ve forgotten I am camouflaged by the shadows. He’s almost even with me when the wind changes and his dog alerts on my presence and gives a woof and halts. I’ve clearly startled the crap out of this guy, because he exclaims “Oh fuck! You startled the crap out of me there!” “I’m sorry I startled you,” I reply, “and good morning! How are trail conditions further on?”, I ask, hoping to make things feel more normal once more. He relaxes. “Don’t mind Cody here, he’s friendly,” he says, “trail’s okay, a little muddy.” I thank him and he continues on his way with a wave.

I sit awhile longer, watching the sky turn blue, and the trees green and gold, and hues of autumn, as daylight comes. I’ll give the sunrise a little time to light the trail, before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Sometimes It Rains

September 21, 2025 //
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I slept well, and deeply. I woke later than usual, and in less pain than yesterday. I quickly dressed and left the house, hoping I was sufficiently quiet to avoid waking my Traveling Partner.

I stepped out of the house, pulling the door closed behind me. It took me several steps down the walkway to recognize that it was raining. I wasn’t yet completely awake. Instead of the much closer local trail, I head up the highway to the nature park, hoping to catch a break in the rain – at least enough to walk the trail there.

I am here, now, and it is still raining, and not yet light enough to walk the trail safely in these conditions. I could give up and just go home, but chances are good that the household is still quiet and dark, the occupants still sleeping. I decide to wait for daybreak and see how things look then.

… The equinox is Monday. The rain feels appropriate for the change of season…

It’s still another 15 minutes or so until daybreak, and another half hour, about, until sunrise. The hourly weather forecast suggests the rain will stop with the sunrise, conveniently enough. I settle in for the wait, and spend some time meditating.

My timer chimes softly as daybreak arrives on this gray and rainy morning. The rain has stopped. I put on my boots and stuff a travel pack of tissues into the pocket of my fleece. My rain poncho seems a wise choice, and I rummage in my gear bin for it in the gloom, unwilling to light a light, enjoying the gentle dimness before dawn becomes day. I can make out the pavement of the parking lot quite clearly now, and see the sheen of recent rain reflecting streetlights and passing headlights. A sprinkling of rain falls, then quickly stops. I put on my rain poncho, and grab my cane. A rainy breeze stirs the trees and lifts my hair, still dry for the moment, but that won’t last. I chuckle and pull a hair tie off the gear shift knob and tie my hair back, out of my face and less likely to vex me if I get rained on for any distance.

Pain or rain, doesn’t really matter; it is easy to let circumstances stop me doing what needs to be done, or the things I enjoy. It can be a real effort to drag myself past whatever obstacles lie in life’s path, but it’s worth to push on, to get past the momentary heartaches, obstacles, and assorted inconvenient pains in the ass, and get on with living, any time I can. It’s going to rain sometimes – but that doesn’t have to stop me. (It has required so much practice to get to this place!) I’m grateful for each new beginning that has lead me to this moment.

I’ve got enough light to see, now, though sunrise is still some time in the future. It’s sprinkling gently, but not raining hard enough to stop me, and I’ve got the luxury of having the trail entirely to myself this morning. I smile at the rain drops falling on my face, and taste the drops on my lips. It’s a fine time to begin again. Let it rain, I’m fine with that.

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

Do Not Become The Thing You Despise

September 18, 2025 //
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I’m just saying, it’s a short distance from anger, resentment, and thoughts of paybacks to becoming the person you despise for the same characteristics you’ve adopted over time, as your anger and hate ate away at your good heart, good values, and sense of self. We can’t correct the injustices we see in the world by becoming less just, ourselves. We can’t force the world to be a kinder more compassionate place through violence. Worth thinking about, isn’t it? I mean, generally speaking, there is value in self-reflection, self-awareness, and becoming the person we most want to be through willful practice of those qualities we value most highly, isn’t there?

… I’m not telling you what to do, just pointing out that you are making choices (we all are)…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a week of cool nights and warm afternoons. In the morning, I wear my fleece. In the afternoons, I remove layers and enjoy bare arms and the sun on my back. The darkness on the trail before dawn requires my headlamp. The walk after work from the university library to the parking nearby is lit brightly by summer sunshine. It is time for the season to change (here), and I feel it everywhere. Fall is coming.

The trail is dry under my feet, and the night sky is dark. I get about half way, and it’s still quite dark. I turn off my headlamp and sit quietly, gazing into the night sky, scattered with stars, the thin crescent moon rising in the east. I enjoy the quiet.

“A season for change,” I say to myself, softly. Aren’t they all, though? Change is. I sit awhile listening to the zing and buzz of my tinnitus, and the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, like a ticking clock. I remember a time when even the recollection of a ticking clock (and definitely the sound of one) could immediately transform me into a seething quivering wreck, breathless with anxiety, and keep me from sleeping. Not now. Now a ticking clock is only a ticking clock. Oh, surely, a ticking clock is also a useful metaphor, a reminder that time passes, that moments are individual and precious, and time itself finite… but it no longer has the power to keep me awake at night or cause an internal solitary war of nerves. We made it up, that ticking clock, and it need not hold power over us.

… Let the clock tick. It will, regardless. Be here, now, in this present moment. Let change happen. Embrace it, and make each change another milestone on your journey. Better to grab each moment of joy and savor it before it passes, than to fight circumstances we do not control.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. I’ve got time. The day begins quite early, this morning, and this lovely moment, now, is mine to enjoy. “Nothing to see here.” True. I’m just one woman, alone in the darkness, waiting for daybreak, enjoying the quiet, alone. Where will this day take me? To my desk and to work, and later to return home. It’s not fancy or extraordinary or particularly interesting as moments go, but it is a lovely quiet one (aside from my tinnitus, which is very loud this morning). It’s enough to see another sunrise. I sit waiting for the inevitable changes.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Later, I’ll begin again, and face new, other, changes.

It is a new day. Daybreak comes, revealing the trail I walked to get to this place, and the trail ahead that I will follow next. The map is not the world. The trail is not the journey. The plan is not the experience. The choice is not the outcome. The whole of our lifetime is not any one moment we live. It is a worthy endeavor to live each moment fully present, to find out where our path truly leads… but it isn’t as easy as wanting to. There is effort and will involved. Choices. Action.

I smile, watching the sun rise on this new day.

Ask the questions. Do the verbs.
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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Daybreak Comes

October 13, 2024 //
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I woke too early. I definitely would have slept longer. I got up and started my day, anyway; I was awake. At the trailhead, I sit waiting for the sun, sipping coffee and trying to recall the significant seeming thought I’d had on the drive…or was it yesterday in the evening? I no longer recall the timing or the thought.

Daybreak came while I was still reflecting on lost ideas and missed moments.

A new day.

I sit wondering if I’ll be able to see the comet this morning. Probably not until later, if at all. I saw it yesterday (I think), as I was leaving this place. I noticed the odd number of people standing around watching the sunrise (many people, very specifically staring toward the eastern horizon). I looked out that direction, wondering why there were so many more people milling around than usual, and saw the small streak, low on the horizon. I didn’t know what it was, and didn’t think to wonder. I drove on. There’s something to learn from that.

The sunrise begins.

New sunrise. New day. I think I’d rather be sleeping. lol I try to remember why the fuck I get up so damned early in the first place and promise myself a nap later.

The bold orange, peach, and apricot hues of the sunrise hold my attention while I lace up my boots. This trail isn’t going to walk itself. I mutter something to myself under my breath about early mornings and this mortal lifetime, but the thought is gone as the words are uttered, and I don’t really notice and mostly don’t care. I’m watching the colors change on the horizon. I grab my cane, stand and stretch and lock the car. I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Taking Time

November 25, 2023 //
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I’m sitting here watching the sun rise. I’m fortunate to have (and enjoy) the opportunity. I was out on the trail early, just at daybreak. It’s a frosty cold Autumn morning, here. There’s no rush to return home, and I know these early hours are good ones for giving my Traveling Partner a bit of time to get some sleep. We each have our different difficulties with sleep, and getting out of the house for a morning walk is one great way for me to show how much I care.

… And I enjoy the walk, the sunrise, and the quiet time alone, for myself…

Enough light to see the trail.

This morning I get back to the car too early to consider heading home, and haven’t yet gotten a “good morning” message from my partner, so I take time to meditate, and to sketch the gnarled old oak on the slope in front of my parked car. I’m bundled up for winter weather, but as the minutes pass, I become restless and ready to move on with the day. There’s a tree to decorate in the living room and I am filled with festive joy.

… It’s still pretty early. Saturday. I consider heading toward home and perhaps stopping along the way, maybe a bit of shopping?

I smile knowing my partner is getting the rest he needs.

Migrating flocks pass by overhead.

I listen to the sounds of migrating flocks of birds passing by. It’s a new day. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being
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