I was finishing up the grocery shopping, yesterday, when I got the message from the Author. His flight was cancelled. The next flight available would push his arrival late into the evening, cutting a short trip on a long weekend by a full day. A little later, he confirms his plan to visit has unraveled – perhaps another time? Maybe. I was disappointed.
I was also in a ridiculous amount of pain. It made sense to let go of my disappointment, and get on with my day. My Traveling Partner encourages me to take it easy, get some rest, and enjoy our cozy tidy home for the day. I did, and it was so worth it. It was a lovely evening. I cooked a simple wholesome meal, we ate as a family. It was pleasant and relaxed. I spent time reading, and playing a favorite video game. The downtime had practical value and I woke feeling rested this morning and eager to walk the marsh trail up the road.
I arrived at the trailhead. This morning the gate into the parking is locked. I’m surprised, but only because it hasn’t been being locked overnight for awhile (since the government shutdown last year). Doesn’t matter, really. I take one of the spaces in the lower parking lot, adjacent to the highway. This morning is a cold one, just at freezing (32°F, 0°C). I’m grateful to be dressed warmly, but mildly frustrated with my gear being “all over the place” (it isn’t, it’s just not as I had placed it, after the Anxious Adventurer used my car recently). I manage to find everything I’m looking for: hat, scarf, gloves, headlamp, and an oversized fleece that fits nicely over layers of sweaters. The effort warms me, and I head happily down the trail in the the predawn darkness.
I hadn’t planned this weekend to unfold this way, but it’s still a long weekend, and all the loose plans I had made were to do with hanging out with the Author and my Traveling Partner. I fall back on familiar things, like this more distant, longer trail. I’m looking forward to reading later, too, and maybe spending more time playing video games – I often just don’t have the time or energy for such things. I smile to myself, feeling very loved by the way my Traveling Partner encourages me to slow down and get some much needed chill time. I remind myself to tackle a handful of housekeeping tasks before I settle into a day of leisure (dishes, laundry, and changing bed linens). Some housekeeping details are best handled, due to their big contribution to perceived quality of life. I’m okay with that, although sometimes it seems tedious and inescapable. The work of living life still has to be done. There are verbs involved.
My footsteps crunch down the trail in the darkness, a small circle of light ahead of me bobbing about with my stride. A possum crosses the path ahead of me as I near my halfway point. She gives me an irritated look. She doesn’t need the light and probably finds it a bit blinding. I pause and turn it off to let her pass, then continue on my way. A tinge of orange begins to shift the hue of the eastern horizon. Daybreak. I walk on.
I get to my halfway point, notice that the log I often sit on has been removed. I keep walking, on around the next bend to a spot further down the year-round trail where there is a bench, near the river. I’ve got a sliver of view of the eastern horizon, and the lights of some business or community beyond the highway on the other side of the marsh. I sit down to write and watch the sunrise. The quiet is… quiet. So quiet. I sigh to myself contentedly. What a lovely moment! Even the wintry frosty morning manages to delight me. Occasionally I pause my writing to jam cold hands into warm pockets to sit with my thoughts and just breathe. Barely freezing. I’m grateful for the mild winter now, but we’ll likely all be regretting it when Spring comes and there hasn’t been enough precipitation to replenish aquifers and water crops. I frown when I think about the likelihood of heightened wildfire risk.
…We plan and we plan. We forecast weather and seasonal needs and resources. Reality doesn’t care about our careful planning; it does what it will without regard to anyone’s plans. It’s good to have a “plan B”, just in case, or a comfortable relationship with change. The orange on the horizon becomes deeper, richer, and more vibrant as I watch. Dark feathers of distant trees are silhouetted on the skyline. Beautiful. I watch silently, happily. I’m okay with this moment just as it is. I make a point to enjoy it. There is no value to rushing through it.
Dawn brings more light to the marsh and meadow. Shapes emerge from the dissipating darkness. Trees. Shrubs. Ponds. The trail. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Beautiful morning to watch the sun rise. A little later I’ll begin again. For now this is enough.
Evening Light 