Sometimes I find a moment of peace through happenstance, sometimes I make choices that create a moment of peace. Either way, I enjoy the moment.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
This morning is a bit of both, I guess. I chose to set my alarm for an early hour, in spite of being Saturday, and in spite of an interrupted night’s sleep. I chose this particular trail, in a small state park. It is pure luck that I’ve got it all to myself this morning: no other walkers, no dogs, no talkative children, just quiet, and birdsong. It’s lovely.
A new day, a path I chose.
I start down the trail as the sun rises. The air is sweet and spicy with that particular fragrance of Oregon wildflowers that I love so much. My steps feel comfortable, my stride feels relaxed and confident. For the time being my pain is minimal, and I’ve got my cane to steady me if my energy runs out, or I stumble. It’s a good beginning on a new day, and I savor the beauty of the moment as I walk.
Wildflowers line the trail.
I walk. Breathe. Exhale. Drink in the sights and scents of this lovely summer morning. Granted, it’s easier to create and enjoy a moment of peace in a place such as this, but I’ve found similar peace in some unlikely places. The success is in the outcome, not the setup. I sigh to myself; I’m not fooling anyone. It definitely is easier to find (or create) a peaceful moment in a place like this. I smile as I walk. I’m grateful for this lovely easy peaceful joyful moment of solitude on a carefree summer Saturday morning. Moments don’t last, so I savor it while it does.
Be present; every step counts.
I peer over the edge of an odd gap between trees off the edge of the trail. Something clearly uses this as a route to somewhere… but it is treacherously steep. I don’t test my agility; I am too aware of my limitations, cautious, and reluctant to be injured in a location where I might not easily be found. Choices.
I walk on. The sun lights up the tree tops, green and gold. I get to a favorite spot with a lovely view and stop to watch the sunrise.
A nice spot to reflect on a new day.
I’m not really thinking about the day ahead just yet. I’m enjoying the moment I’m in. That’s enough. This beautiful moment is as fleeting as any other – all too brief – it makes sense to enjoy it as it is, and soak myself in this delightful feeling of peace. It will pass. I chuckle to myself. Good or bad, the moments pass. The clock is ticking on this mortal life. I don’t let the awareness fret me. I just walk on.
I get to my feet, feeling content and merry and ready for a new day, wherever my path may lead. It’s time to begin again.
I woke gently after a good night of deep sleep. I woke surprised to be awake, and surprised that it was only minutes until my alarm would have brightened the room. I got up quietly, hoping to avoid waking my Traveling Partner, and slipped out of the house and watered the lawn before I headed for the trail.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
A new day, full of promise and opportunity. Don’t waste it
It’s a chilly morning. I walk down the trail marveling at the vapor of my breath, like a child, and watching the sun illuminating the oaks as it rises. The sky is a beautiful blue, clear and cloudless. I walk with my thoughts. I’m eager for the long weekend ahead. Eager to paint and feeling deeply inspired. My eagerness to paint competes with my eagerness to fly my new drone, although I chuckle to myself every time I think about my drone, because I also think about South Park, season 18, episode 5, “The Magic Bush” (a hilarious and rude cautionary tale about drones and “drone hobby enthusiasts”).
I grin happily as I walk on. My very first drone is cute, and rested so lightly in my hand after I unboxed it and inspected it with care. It arrived rather late in the evening last night, and even if it had been all charged up, I was already too tired to take it out for a flight. Today is soon enough. I’m pretty good at waiting. 😆 I satisfied myself in the moment with the excitement of its arrival and busied myself with charging the batteries and the controller.
…New experiences slow that ticking clock…
I reach my halfway point and stop awhile. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and enjoy a solitary moment on a peaceful summer morning. I’m looking forward to some studio time this weekend. I’m looking forward to hanging out with my partner. I sit in the morning sunshine feeling grateful and anticipating a pleasant long weekend.
I don’t much care that this particular long weekend is thanks to the 4th of July holiday being observed on Friday the 3rd. Trump and his clown car of corrupt cronies and billionaire sycophants have largely ruined the holiday with their grotesque (and extraordinarily unsuccessful) partisan spectacle of wasted taxpayer dollars. I have no interest in celebrating the walking obscenity that we elected to office, I’m just hoping we manage to salvage our democracy from the wreckage when he’s gone. Still… I do enjoy a long weekend. There’s that.
I sigh to myself and shiver a bit. I should have grabbed my fleece, I think to myself. The sun is warm on my back. The contrast makes my nerves tingle. I check the flight map on my device… Would I be able to fly here? I’m delighted to see that I would be cleared to fly here. (I’ve always wanted to see what is beyond the trees on the far side of the vineyard.)
I sit with my thoughts, composing the view as if to paint it. It’s a pretty scene. I feel relaxed and unbothered, grateful for the lovely moment. It’s a promising beginning to the day. I stretch and sigh when I notice the time. Already time to finish this hike and begin again.
No surprise that it feels like summer, I suppose; it is. What is more surprising is that we’ve got another extreme heat warning for our area (two already this year). I guess we’re fortunate. It’s only expected to be in the 90’s.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
An orange dawn greets me at the trailhead.
I head down the trail with a song in my head. I mostly don’t mind summertime, but it isn’t my favorite. I do have a lot of nostalgic feelings about summer. Memories of hot summer mornings, stifling humidity, swimming lessons, icy cold root beer or sweet tea on the screened-in back porch, and fireflies at twilight fill my thoughts as I walk. I have recollections of so many sticky sleepless nights, and the sweet relief of the cold flowing from the window AC when we were permitted to use it.
This is a very different time and place in my life. My feet carry me past towering oaks until the trail turns to wrap around the vineyard. I get to my halfway point and take a seat on a log left behind after a fallen tree was cut up and hauled away. I wonder, again, why this section was left behind? Doesn’t really matter, it’s a good spot to sit, to write, meditate, and welcome a new day.
The weekend was a thoroughly pleasant one. I didn’t paint but the studio is now set up for it, and I feel as if I could step into the studio at any time on any day and begin to work. It’s a nice feeling. It will require some changes of habit and timing to make skillful use of the opportunity. That’s fine. Life doesn’t stand still. Change is.
After some time passes, I realize that my mind has wandered far away to camping trips and plein air painting. I’d ideally like to go somewhere that presents me with huge vistas and open skies, maybe the high desert down south a ways, or some mountainside with views of hills beyond hills… Do I really want to camp, or just drive far with my camera, stopping for viewpoints and short hikes to see sights? There are so many beautiful and interesting things to see on this continent. I don’t have to go far to see something new or wonderful – Oregon is big. I haven’t yet seen it all.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I pull myself back to this moment, here, now. The work day will begin shortly, but that time is not now. This moment, here, in the early morning summer sunshine, is mine. I watch the sunlight illuminate the tops of the oaks, slowly reaching the edges of the grape vines. I contentedly sit, watching the changing light. (I admit, it doesn’t take much to entertain me.) I’m grateful to have this moment of solitude and joy, satisfied to watch a sunrise. Grateful to have another mortal day.
I take a breath, and then another. I soak in the beauty of the morning, before the heat of the day settles in. It is a deliciously pleasant moment, in spite of pain (which isn’t too bad this morning), in spite of tinnitus (which is shrieking loudly in my ears), in spite of the (likely to be) busy work day ahead. I’m okay with all of it. I’m feeling relaxed and unbothered. I feel like summer. 😆
I smile to myself and stretch. The trail is bathed in golden morning light. Beautiful. I squint towards the rising sun and get to my feet. It’s time to begin again – a new day is waiting for me.
Sometimes I get things quite wrong. Sometimes that turns out surprisingly well.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
This morning as dawn becomes day on a gray morning, I notice that this sweater I’m wearing, a birthday gift from my Traveling Partner, is blue. (I had misperceived it as an olive green when I opened it in dim light). I’m not bothered or disappointed – it complements my nails nicely, and still will after I get them done later today. I’m delighted with the sweater. I am pleased with the color, and don’t have much in this shade of blue. A beautiful “mistake”.
We all make mistakes. Some big, some so small as to be wholly inconsequential. We grow from dealing with mistakes more than we grow from great decision making. Just as good decisions can sometimes lead to bad (or unanticipated less than useful) outcomes, sometimes our mistakes lead to some beautiful moments or unexpected good outcomes. Some “mistakes” probably don’t rate that label in the first place; it is easy to confuse a challenge for a “mistake”, especially for those of us who enjoy a low effort low drama experience.
This morning I’ve planned to make breakfast for my Traveling Partner before he begins work. I realized when I woke this morning that I may be missing an ingredient. I check on my way out of the house, and confirm it. Was it a mistake to plan a weekday morning breakfast? Nah. I’ve just got to stop by the store on my way home from my walk. So… Where’s the mistake? It disappears in the comfortable shift in my plan. Small detail, no bother, not worth being upset about.
I know, I know, there are ever so many mistakes that are (or feel) much bigger than that. I’m not arguing that point, I’m just saying it isn’t necessary (or helpful) to lose our tempers over small stuff. Let it stay small. Hell, I may get to the store and find myself forced to choose an alternate ingredient for this or that – and that might be amazing. I smile to myself, grateful to be adaptable, capable, and willing to cope with change and find beautiful moments in life’s chaos. I remember a time when I wasn’t and didn’t.
…I remember a time when quite a few people in my social circle warned me that they thought my relationship with this person who has become my beloved Traveling Partner on life’s journey was a “mistake”… seems they were wrong 😆…
I take what I thought was a shortcut for this trail, through the vineyard. Now I’m not so sure it’s shorter at all. Hard to be annoyed by that; I am stopped along the way by a family of racoons foraging for something between the rows. The mama raccoon watched me warily while she gets her little ones together and they waddle away – they have no need for an obvious trail. I chuckle with delight and walk on.
… Beautiful morning, no mistake…
The quiet on the trail is pleasant. I’m looking forward to breakfast, and I love this blue sweater. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Feels like a good day ahead and I’m ready to begin again.
Feeling stuck? It happens. Been there… not lately, but once upon a time it was pretty common, even chronic. I’m sitting at a different trailhead this morning. Almost wilderness, but not really. It’s simply unfamiliar, and the novelty feels wilder and more remote than this little green space really is.
A well trodden trail leading to an unknown destination.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I passed through the gate, which just stands there not attached to anything, preventing vehicular traffic passing through, into the big clover meadow encircled by trees, bounded on one side by the silent broad Willamette River, and on the other a forest that extends to a quiet rural state highway. This early on a chilly Sunday morning there is no traffic, nor are there other visitors.
Care for a swim? 😆
Available data suggests that the river is relatively shallow here, between 7″ and 10″ deep, but it’s deceptively calm surface manages to suggest caution, and anyway it’s much too cold for swimming, at 41F (7C) this morning (air temperature that is, I expect the water is maybe a bit warmer, based on the mist hanging above the river, but it wouldn’t be enough to coax the average person into it).
A meadow of clover, a moment of joy.
I start down the trail. Even this hard-packed dirt trail is much easier on my ankle and my foot than pavement ever is. I still have my cane, but my stride feels easy and natural. It’s a nice change and I ask myself why I don’t come here more often? It’s a lovely spot, and only 17 miles from home. The view of the sunrise over the river is quite splendid. I sigh contentedly as I walk. The air smells of Spring flowers, clover, blackberries, wild cucumber, and spicy scents of various wildflowers less familiar to me. In rainier seasons most of this trail is too muddy to walk safely. I enjoy being able to reach the far side of the meadow and circle back around.
Wild cucumber blooming among the thimbleberries.
I get some great pictures as I make the loop around the meadow. There’s something vaguely nostalgic about the scent here. Something that hints at childhood visits to my grandparents’ house in summertime, or weekends working in the garden. I breathe, exhale, and relax, pausing now and then to soak in the scene and the scent.
I find a spot to stop a moment, to write and watch the river flow past. It is so quiet here, it’s hard to imagine I am close to a city at all, but Salem is only 7 miles away. Doesn’t matter at all how close it is in miles. Measured by the experience of this moment, it may as well not exist at all.
Watching the sun rise from a new vantage point.
… I’ll definitely be coming back to this trail more often…
I sit quietly enjoying my time in this place. The light through the trees changes as the sun continues to climb higher in the sky. I reflect on conversations with my beloved Traveling Partner over recent days. He’s been helping me quite a lot with putting more explicit focus on my self-care and it has been making a difference.
Bunnies!
Motion catches my eye; a rabbit with baby bunnies has ventured out into the grass near the trail. She’s far enough from this rock I’m sitting on to be fearless about my presence. I watch the bunnies hop into the open space of the trail, then dart away, when a shadow passes overhead, returning to continue munching and playing. I watch them for a long while, contemplating consciousness and intelligence, and the arrogance of human primates and our delusions of our special place in the world. We know so little of everything there is to know, and even less about the vastness of what we don’t even know we don’t know. Are bunnies self-aware? Do they reason? Do they feel and experience emotions? (Why would we think they don’t, other than to make ourselves feel better when we kill them?)
As I watch, one rabbit with bunnies becomes several, all hopping and playing at the edge of the meadow in the sunshine of a new day. Some of the bunnies roll in the dust of the dry packed trail. A variety of songbirds flit about. I feel fortunate and delighted to see all of this. I fill up on the feeling of wonder and joy.
I sit with my thoughts awhile, then walk a trail that heads the other direction from the trailhead. There’s more to see. The morning is mine to enjoy as I will. I think happily to my Traveling Partner encouraging me to make something of the day for myself. “Do something for you,” he said. This is me, doing that. I breathe the scented Spring air deeply and walk on. It’s a lovely moment for it.
Strange fruit. What might you see if you slow down and really look?
There’s nothing in the news more worth my attention than these quiet moments in the real world. There is no app on any device that offers me more than I’ll find on this trail, in this moment, here, now. Look up from your scrolling long enough to see that there is a real reality in which you exist, with much to see and do and choose from. Your choices matter. There’s a reason all these apps want your attention, and more and more businesses have such apps; your attention has real value. Spend that on you – choose where you put your attention with care.
…Be here, now… Be present. Moments are fleeting, and our mortal lifetimes are brief.
I smile to myself like I know something. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. My results definitely vary. I’m having my own experience – and it’s real. I get back to the parking lot, which is filling with people and dogs. This is not my idea of a great time, so I wrap up my notes and my put my gear back in the car. Coffee would be good right about now, and it feels like a good opportunity to begin again.
Travelers on the same path are nonetheless each having their own experience.
Evening Light 