choose your path wisely | Evening Light

Happy Solstice. It’s here. The longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice, is here. Another year over. Another winter has arrived.

I woke early and considered going back to sleep, but it was obvious I’d be fighting my sinuses and rather than wake everyone else, I got up. The sun won’t rise until 07:48 this morning. Less than 9 hours later, it will set. Short day. Long night. Ah, but seasons are cycles and the wheel keeps turning. It is time once again for the days to begin growing longer. I’m grateful to see another solstice. I hope I see many more.

I park at the trailhead after a drive that was eerily free of traffic. I park with a view of the eastern horizon, and of the shallow seasonal lake that develops each year in the farm fields across the highway from this nature park. In the darkness, the reflected lights of the communities beyond give the appearance of a “waterfront location”. It is a pretty illusion. I sit sipping my coffee, waiting for the first hint of the sunlight of a new day. It’s a colder morning. I’m grateful for thinking to bundle up a bit.

… another Solstice…

Yesterday was the new moon, which seems fitting. A clean slate, a new beginning, a turn of the calendar page – all ideas to do with renewal. I like that. I sit sipping a hot cup of cheap coffee in the darkness. The cup is warm in my hands. The coffee is still too hot to do more than sip it carefully. The hot liquid is soothing on my throat.

Giftmas is only days away. Presents are wrapped. The lights on the tree illuminated the living room softly as I left the house, and the recollection of that merry glow fills me with joy. I sit awhile thinking about holiday traditions and rituals. ‘Tis the season, after all. I smile when I think about the basket of sharable treats assembled and waiting to be placed on the table. I reflect on community and sharing and a moment of light and abundance, a celebration of triumph over the winter and the darkness.

My coffee becomes properly drinkable after cooling a bit. The challenge now is to drink it and enjoy it before it goes cold. I breathe, exhale, and relax, hands warmly embracing the paper cup. I meditate, enjoying the scent of the coffee, and the stillness and quiet of a Sunday Solstice morning. There is no traffic. The geese, still asleep, drift on the fields covered in shallow water and on the marsh ponds. A lone coyote darts across my view. I love this part of Oregon for the characteristics of wild and rural spaces adjacent to suburbs and towns. Seeing deer wandering through McMinnville as if they belong still delights me, and I’m alert for cototes, bobcats, deer, and racoons as I drive in the early morning. I see them often. Well, all but the bobcats, lynxes, or cougars, which are not only much more rare, but also much less inclined to enter human spaces if they can avoid doing so. It would be rare indeed to see a wild cat of any sort wandering about in town.

I sigh contentedly. The temperature is still a chilly 38°F (3.3°C). I’m grateful for my cozy sweater and my fluffy warm cardigan. I reach into the gear bin in the back of my SUV and find my wool hat, scarf, and gloves, by feel and pull them out. It’s definitely cold enough for putting on a scarf and hat. The gloves would once have been left behind in favor of shoving my hands into my pockets, but I reliably take my cane along these days, so gloves are no longer optional on cold mornings, if I hope to keep my hands warm.

I bundle up, saving my gloves for last to finish this bit of writing. My left foot is griefing me with a bit of tendonitis, and I am wondering how far I’ll really go, today, but I don’t give up on the walk completely. I remind myself to stop by the storage unit and get more (better) pictures of an item we’re hoping to sell, and maybe take a load of smaller stuff over to the new unit. I’ll spend the day mostly creating order from chaos (doing housework) and writing to far away friends, and listening to holiday music.

A little more light, a little more view.

I notice that I can now see the ground pretty easily, although dawn is still almost 20 minutes away. Good enough for trail walking, and I won’t need my headlamp. I stretch and yawn, and rub my aching shoulders. It is the Winter Solstice, and a new day is dawning. It’s time to begin again.

I woke to a bright flash and the sound of thunder a few minutes ahead of my alarm. There was a message from my Traveling Partner sent during the wee hours of the night, asking if the thunder was keeping me awake, too. It wasn’t, but it eventually did wake me. As I dressed, I looked at the forecast. If it’s still raining, it won’t be for long, maybe.

I head to a more distant favorite trailhead, meadow and marsh, fewer trees. When I get there it’s still dark, not yet daybreak. I park facing west and watch the lightning illuminate the western sky at unpredictable intervals. I make a futile attempt to get a photograph of lightning; this is not the camera for that purpose. I give up and sit quietly, just watching, and waiting for the gate to the nature park to open.

Lightning before, lightning after, but the click of the shutter doesn’t catch the sight. There’s a lesson here.

… So much lightning seen, and not photographed…

I sit watching, as daybreak arrives and becomes the dawn of a new day. Most of the lightning I see arrives without thunder. It must be far away, I guess. Most of it flashes horizontally across the western sky, seeming never to touch the ground. Instead of a blinding pure white light, some of it appears almost orange, and I wonder at it, and contemplate what the cause could be and whether I’ve ever seen that before. We rarely get thunderstorms here, but lacking the sound of thunder, does this count as that?

I watch the lightning for more than half an hour, as the dawn sky brightens. Is it even safe to be out on the marsh trail in the open during a lightning storm, I eventually wonder? I’m content to wait and wonder, there is no reason to rush; it’s a Saturday.

…It isn’t even raining, at all…

Once there is enough daylight to make out the trail easily, I lace up my boots and go.

I enjoy the hues and shadows of the blue hour, as they change.

I get to my halfway point on the other side of the marsh and the meadow safely. I perch on a fence rail near a small pond and watch the western sky. The lightning seems less frequent, and when I see a flash, it is more to the north. The storm is moving. No surprise; storms move. An unexpected really bright flash of lightning tears across the sky, this time with the crackle and boom of thunder, catching me with my eyes wide open looking directly into the brilliant white light. I’m momentarily blinded, and wait, grateful I wasn’t walking at the time.

I breathe the rain-fresh summer air. It smells clean and fresh and healthy. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with cool joy. I enjoy the moment of solitude and quiet. I watch a large-ish herd of deer crossing the meadow. Three does with eight fawns, almost grown, their spots almost gone. I scan the meadow and treeline looking for the buck, but don’t see him. This is a delightful moment simply to exist in the world. I sit with that thought and a feeling of contentment and joy, awhile longer.

After some little while, I notice my legs becoming stiff. Seems a good time to move along down the trail to the next moment. I wonder briefly whether my beloved Traveling Partner managed to get the rest he needs, and whether I should find something to do after my walk and let him sleep in, or head straight home after a short trip to the grocery store on the way? I chuckle to myself. I can rely on him to let me know, and don’t need to guess.

I get to my feet, stretching and looking down the trail. It’s time to begin again.

The Long Dark Night

When the Rain Comes

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The Long Dark Night

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When the Rain Comes

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