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One Dark and Foggy Morning

November 11, 2026 //
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Walking this trail in the fog and predawn darkness is pretty much like any other. Which trail? Doesn’t matter; there is nothing to see but fog beyond the small-seeming circle of light bobbing along. It lights enough of the trail that I am safe from stepping into the marsh by mistake, or slipping and falling into a pond.

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

… This is definitely no time for AI. 😂 Breathing the fresh autumn air as I walked the trail reminded me with each step how precious this mortal human life is. The experience of walking in the foggy darkness, of waking and walking ahead of the sunrise, of the scents of autumn – AI can’t create or experience any of these. Life is a very human experience.

… Be sure to live some of it…

I smile to myself as I take a seat on a fence rail between the trail and a marsh pond. In summer it’s a very small stagnant pond, more of a puddle, and the ground between the fence and the pond itself becomes grassy and firm. The autumn rain returns each year and refills this pond such that it swells and extends almost to the fence. This section of the trails in this nature park is my favorite. It cuts through the marsh. On a foggy morning like this, it is eerie and mysterious. It’s also on a seasonal trail, restricted between October and May, and I feel a moment of guilt and embarrassment; I had forgotten. It is November.

I sigh to myself, admitting I also ought not really be out here before dawn. The signage is quite specific; park hours are dawn to dusk. I face my mixed feelings about my rule-breaking. It feels strangely American to defy authority and break rules – but that doesn’t address the right/wrong of the choice to be out here on this trail in the darkness of a foggy autumn morning well before daybreak.

I understand myself as someone with a commitment to being my best self, and respecting rules… but here I am, unmistakably not following clearly posted rules. I sit with the discomfort and cognitive dissonance, letting the truth remain prominent in my thoughts long enough to accept who I am, and my decision making which brought me here. Nonjudgmental self-reflection, consideration of what is real and true of this moment. No games or self-defensiveness, no excuses or rationalization. Observation, acknowledgement, and acceptance, only – challenge accepted, I tell myself, and sit awhile longer. My human primate mind really really wants rationalization and approval, I persist in refusing to provide it. I made choices.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The fog envelopes me in the darkness. Hints of daybreak begin to appear. The sky is a paler gray. The oaks dotting the marsh and meadow are silhouetted, black against the sky. Smaller trees appear through the fog, looking like strangers just standing out there in the gloom. Spooky. I have the trail to myself this morning. Not only because it’s ridiculously early, but also, it is a Wednesday, Veterans Day, but an ordinary work day for many.

… The sky and fog all around me continue to lighten as dawn becomes a new day. Everything around me is fog, as though I had inadvertently stepped out of my reality into some vague, unimagined space, gray and… waiting. Waiting, perhaps, for me to choose a direction, select a path, and begin again.

There’s enough light to see now. I’m still surrounded by fog. The sound of distant traffic on the edge of the park is muffled. The air is so still and quiet that the sound of a nearby wakeful duck on the pond ruffling her feathers seems loud. My feet crunch on the gravel trail when I hop down from the fence rail, stretching as I stand. I look down the trail, into the fog. The world seems to disappear completely about 50 ft (something like 15 meters) from me.

… I walk on, imagining each detail that emerges from the fog to be wholly new, and my own doing. If I were to create the world anew – what would I change? With what purpose in mind? How would I shape it with all of humanity in mind? And everything else? What about all the many details I don’t know or can’t imagine? Would my world be comically lopsided without? I stop on the trail further on, realizing I hadn’t yet finished this. Strange foggy morning.

Walking in the fog. It’s a metaphor.

I finish my writing, and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, 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, women, Words

This One’s Just Me

August 10, 2026 //
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Odd morning. I slept well enough. I woke on time. The morning seems ordinary, another Monday. Still, I feel rather out of sorts and vexed with something or other, but I have no idea what, or why.

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

I sigh to myself, waiting on daybreak to start my walk. I haven’t yet replaced my headlamp. Is that what’s annoying me? Maybe, but if so more likely as a larger concern with not getting shit done “in a timely manner”, and some vague sense of being on a metaphorical hamster wheel in life. Maybe it’s just my exceedingly annoying painful left shoulder, which is being particularly annoying and painful this morning? Also? Omg fuck the “aches and pains” of aging. So over that shit.

…So, yeah, I’m pretty cross this morning, but there’s no noteworthy tale to tell, or anything obvious to do about it. Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Don’t take shit personally…

There is so much to do that I feel like I don’t (or can’t) get to. I sigh to myself. I could do more, work harder, burn more energy in spite of pain… It gets tricky when I attempt to stave off resentment by improving my self-care. There’s a balance to strike. At least I’m sleeping. That’s something. We all need sleep to keep these fragile vessels in working order.

Daybreak comes. I’m always strangely relieved when it does, as if there might be some real risk that it might not. I stepped onto the trail, testing my stability carefully before I proceeded. I Checked that my trekking pole is adjusted correctly and securely. Steps on a path. Nice morning for walking. I let my eyes adjust and start down the trail.

We’re each having our own experience. I reflect on that as I walk. However many times I walk this trail, each walk is still new, and is a unique experience. Each other person who has or will walk this trail experiences it differently than I do. That’s a lot of experiences.

I stop at my halfway point. The new hotel being built next to the air museum is visible from here. For now, it is still an eyesore of construction in progress, it’s blocky form inconsistent with the architecture of the museum. It’s ugly and ordinary, another revenue stream for the owner(s). I’d rather have seen more vineyards planted, personally, but I wasn’t asked. 😆

I sit with my grumpiness and discontent. It’ll pass. That is the way of emotions and moments; they pass. I sigh to myself and think instead about driving my RC car this weekend, which was delightful, and I think about the pleasant time spent hanging out with my beloved, or working on my next painting in my studio. It was a good weekend, generally speaking.

… What the fuck do I even have to be cranky about..?

I shift my position and feel all the twinges of pain at once: the shoulder, the knee, the new arthritis in my thumbs, the old arthritis in my spine, the headache, and the occipital neuralgia. I laugh, an actual audible expression of genuine amusement. How is the pain not enough reason to be a bit cross this morning? I shrug it off, satisfied that I’ve got reason enough to feel the way I do. I proceed to get some kind of start to letting that go; there is an entire new day ahead, and there’s no efficiency to be gained by dwelling on pain. I’ll just do my best to…do my best.

I watch the sky lighten. A new day. A new chance to begin again. A new chance to be the person I most want to be.

…No one said it would be easy…

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Here We All Are

June 28, 2026 //
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It is a gray rainy summer morning in the Pacific Northwest. Nothing particularly unusual about that. The temperature this morning is a mild 14C/58F. Comfortable. A muscle up the back of my right thigh is aching painfully. I mostly ignore it, but approach a favorite weekend trail from a different trailhead, with fewer hills. The more level ground is an easier walk.

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

What’s your moment like? I wonder briefly how it is we each have our own experience, living our individual “now” moment, like pages in a book; so similar at a glance, such differences in the details, and still so common and familiar we are able to understand each other.

I walk with my thoughts, feeling a delicate spatter of occasional raindrops on my face. Not enough to call it “raining”. The marshy places are barely damp now, replaced mostly with meadow until the heavy autumn rains return. The tall grass is already brown. Most of the wildflowers are fading, dropping seeds for next year’s Spring bloom. The trees in the distance are many hues and shades of green, looking fresh and lush from where I stand.

Doesn’t matter where you are, you’ve got to start somewhere, and that somewhere is where you are.

There’s a delicious spicy herb-y floral scent that I specifically associate with Oregon. I don’t know what it is. I love the scent of Oregon. Meadow, marsh, forest, dunes, desert, savannah…it hardly matters to me. I love the places I have seen and been and traveled through. Oregon is special to me, though I have trouble being clear as to precisely why. Of all the places I have lived or visited, Oregon is one of only two that draw me back again and again (the other is “the Eastern Shore” region of Maryland, with her marshy flatlands and peaceful coves). It’s not that I don’t like (and even love) many other places, it’s more that these “two” (Oregon is pretty vast to be a single place) call to my heart to come on home.

I get to my halfway point feeling a soft gratitude just to be alive, existing, and able to experience the simple joy of a summer morning. Uncomplicated. Unbothered. From my perch on a fence rail, I watch a multitude of little birds flit about. They have their own way of enjoying the morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This feels like enough. Right here. Now.

…I am, of course, overlooking all the corruption, drama, and harmful bullshit going on in the US, and around the world. I’m ignoring, for the moment, all the violence and genocide. Drone warfare. The bombings of civilian targets. The fuckwittery of our gerontocracy. The obscene greed of billionaires. The commonness of hate speech and incivility. It’s much. We all need to take steps to preserve our individual peace, and our resilience; the future of humanity may depend on our persistence and endurance. This isn’t a sprint. I sigh quietly and let all that go, again, for awhile…

I spent a couple hours in the studio this weekend. I may go back for more. Painting fulfills something for me that nothing else does. It is soul-nurturing, healing work.

“Summer Sunrise, McMinnville June 2026”

I gaze across the meadow observing the changing light and thinking about palette choices, shade, tint, and hue. How best to capture a misty rain drenching a summer meadow, I wonder? I sit watching until the rain reaches me, then laugh with delight when it finally does, as if surprised. It passes by quickly, leaving me a bit damp, glasses spattered.

I grin at my happy predicament. I don’t mind the rain. I get to my feet and stretch. The trail through the meadow beckons me, and it’s time to begin again (already?).  This, here, now, is as good a moment as any to take a next step, to choose, to walk on, and to begin… but really, anywhere is, it’s simply necessary to begin. To walk on. The clock is ticking.

What are you going to do about it?
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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Hello, Dawn

June 25, 2026 //
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I woke gently, ahead of my alarm. I freshenened up and dressed for the day, then watered the lawn as I left. It is a pleasant routine and a lovely morning.

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

I arrived at the trailhead as a beautiful sunrise began, hues of orange and gold quickly evolving to a delicate pearl pink sky. Beautiful.

Well, hello there brand new day!

I head down the path, enjoying the cool morning. Sometimes the path is clear, and the way ahead free of obstacles. Sometimes the walking is easy and my stride relaxed and comfortable. Some days are harder, others easier, and it took me far too long to learn to spend more time, emotional energy, and attention on the moments of joy and delight, however small or brief, than on the difficult moments. Truly, my difficulties generally find a way to get more than their “fair share” of my attention, no effort required. I savor this gentle delightful morning as I walk. I put attention on it, and keep my awareness firmly on “now”. The morning is a delight and I don’t want to miss any of it.

Vineyards along the trail under a pink sky.

I spent much of yesterday evening in my studio, sorting through recent images (and their associated recollections), finding the specific (best?) pictures that captured some detail I knew I wanted to paint. Another significant portion of the evening was spent in my Traveling Partner’s good company, as he showed me his drone and walked me through the features. He gifted me his previous drone, and talked me through basic operation. I even took my first flight! Oh, I’m slow about such things, and we were in the house, so really all I did was start her up,  take flight, and hover awhile, carefully feeling the experience of controlling her in the air. All the while, my Traveling Partner watched me thoughtfully.

… Loving someone with brain damage creates some challenges…

I woke this morning to a loving note from my partner. He’d carefully shopped for a better choice of “beginner drone” for me with features better suited to my limitations (and less likely to potentially injure me under predictable relatively common things that can (do) go awry for beginners). He made some recommendations, and I find myself genuinely excited about it. No particular reason to “go down this path”, beyond the fun of it, and the joy of a shared experience – but there is all of that, and I’m eager.

I grin to myself, feeling very loved this morning. I remind myself to study and take the TRUST test, so I can legally fly my drone.

Each dawn begins a new day. I say it a lot. This morning I’m really feeling the joy in it. There’s another busy work day ahead, but that will happen when the time comes. It needs no attention from me now. I sit contentedly with my thoughts.

There are hard times and good times, and it is pretty easy to miss out on the good times if I allow the hard times and moments of stress to dominate my thoughts beyond the boundaries of those moments. I breathe, exhale, and relax, feeling the pleasant summer morning infuse my consciousness with delight. The oaks stand watch alongside the trail as they always do, and I wonder (again) what their awareness might be like, and whether they have consciousness as I do? It’s not a question I can answer… but I do wonder.

…I think about coffee…

We make a lot of our challenges in life harder than they need to be. Just saying, that’s a very human thing – but we can choose differently. There are verbs involved. Decisions. Will. Action. (Practice.) I smile and watch a bunny on the opposite side of the trail from where I’m sitting. She has slowly come closer, nibbling tasty grasses and watching me for any sign of threatening movement. I sit quite still until she hops away back into the grass. We can choose how we treat those around us. I sit reflecting on how easy such choices seem in the abstract, and how difficult they can feel in the moment.

The clock ticks on. I’m grateful for the lovely gentle morning. I silently wish my beloved well, from the side of the trail, hoping his night was as good as mine, his sleep as restful, and his morning as full of effortless joy. Maybe it will be? Maybe it won’t be. Either way, I hope he knows he is loved. I look at the time. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

A Disney Moment

June 21, 2026 //
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I got a slow start this morning, in spite of waking quite early and heading to the trail I had selected before dawn. It was a sort of “Disney moment” that caused me to pause and sit awhile, before heading down the trail.

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

I had pulled in to the empty parking lot at the trailhead just at sunrise on an overcast summer morning. As I was gathering my thoughts, a bunny appeared from the brush and tall grass. Then another.

Slow down, see things differently.

Then a squirrel darted into view. A robin landed on a nearby rock. Rather than disturb them all, I sat quiet and still, just watching. Slowly, a stately young buck stepped into the clearing, and two does followed as he passed by, gazing calmly at me as he walked past quite close. A young northern flicker lands on the gate post near my parked car.

Where are you putting your attention? In the real world, or on a screen?

How could I create chaos in this idyllic scene by barging about noisily as human primates often do? I couldn’t. So I sat awhile listening to birdsong and watching a variety of creatures that call this place home just living their lives at the edge of this trail, between forest and meadow along the bank of the Willamette River. What a beautiful moment! I could so easily have missed all of it if I’d been walking through life with my eyes on a screen. How much are you missing because you’ve got your phone in your hand?

… I’m not criticizing your choices with regard to what you are putting your attention on. That’s a you thing. Do you. I’m just aware – and noticing – how much I could be missing of this lovely moment, if I had rushed through it, or been focused on my phone instead of the world around me. It isn’t the first time I’ve given this some thought.

There is more and more research available that supports concerns that our device use is degrading our cognitive abilities and critical thinking skills, and making us dependent on “helpful” tech, so I’m definitely not alone in my concern that my phone (and more modern LLM tools) has the very real potential to degrade my experience, my ability to be present, and my attention to the real physical world around me.

…I made the drive over here without my GPS, to avoid losing my sense of direction and ability to navigate without a device; I’m taking this stuff quite seriously…

…I happily put my phone down (after stealthily snapping a couple pictures) to watch bunnies and robins and squirrels and quail and deer and wildflowers swaying in a soft summer breeze. I wouldn’t want to miss this moment. Would you?

A quiet moment on a summer morning, well-suited to contemplation.

What a lovely moment to enjoy! I haven’t even begun my hike yet. 😆 I grab my cane and my water bottle. The trail is waiting for me, and it’s time to begin, again.

Choose your path and walk it.
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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words
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