There’s no stopping the ticking of the clock. No halting the flow of time. (Not in this here and now, anyway, not as of 2024…) I sip my iced coffee, thinking about time and listening to the rain fall.
A steady rain falling doesn’t trouble flocks of seabirds.
I watched seals (sea lions?) playing in the channel as the rain fell. I listened to the raindrops on the water. I felt the soft pelting of rain on my face as I stood on the balcony drinking in the cool fresh sea air. The clock still measures the time that still flows, but I have no interest in attending to it, and it mostly goes unnoticed. I’m just being.
I enjoyed breakfast at a local breakfast spot. Their coffee was good, and breakfast was exceptionally well-prepared. My appetite was ready for it; I woke early and got a walk on the beach before the rain started. It was a lovely early morning moment (the walk, yes, and also the breakfast). There’s nothing about this that is extraordinary. “Woman on vacation dines at local breakfast hotspot!” is hardly an attention-grabbing headline. lol
Even the gulls are just chilling, today.
Returning to the hotel room after breakfast, I arrived along with the rain. I stood on the balcony awhile, listening and feeling and thinking my thoughts… then… I napped. lol My intention was to read, and to finish the book I brought with me. Instead, sleepiness overcame me and I dozed for an hour or so, although I did not need the sleep. It was luxurious, and I woke feeling that deep satisfaction and rested-ness that a good nap can provide. Now, I’m back to the iced coffee I picked up on my way out for my walk and never finished. No clear agenda, no plan, no goal for the day ahead besides relaxing, resting, and “refilling my tank” – apparently there are naps involved. 😀 So far my results are excellent – I am relaxed, and calm, and contented. I feel merry and deeply satisfied in life. I’m ready to get back to routines and requirements and structure and habit, and all the day-to-day details that need my attention.
I needed a break. I took a break. I have gotten what I need from this break. Feels very successful.
I’ve the day ahead of me, yet, and another night of sleeping by the seashore, listening to the wind and the waves. Another day to listen to the rain fall, and watch the gulls riding the air currents over the bay. Another day to relax and read and nap and walk on the beach.
Another rainy weekend morning at the trailhead waiting for daybreak.
Rainy perspective on a moment.
There’s nothing extraordinary about this wintry rainy morning. I’m okay with that. Life is built on moments and most of those moments are utterly ordinary in every way. That’s not even a criticism, it’s fine. Perhaps better than fine, it’s sustainable and useful.
The rain spatters the car pretty ceaselessly. I’ll have a better idea whether I will be walking the trail once daybreak makes it visible, in the meantime I sit enjoying the sound of the rain and thinking my thoughts. I’ve grown to embrace this waiting time; it’s mine, for me, solitary and still.
I set aside my writing and take time for meditation. I breathe, exhale, relax, and let my thoughts pass as clouds on a breezy day, noticed but without doing anything with them. I settle into a feeling of profound contentment and love. The thought of my Traveling Partner and our shared journey fills my awareness. A sense of gratitude enriches the moment. Pleasant morning. I woke so gently this morning, and now here I sit, enjoying… now. It’s enough.
I sigh contentedly. Daybreak. I hear the clang of the park gate opening. I notice that the rain has stopped, at least for now… If the trail isn’t too flooded, it’ll be a lovely morning to walk it. It’s a lovely morning anyway. Time to begin again.
Another morning, up early for a walk, but instead I am enjoying a quiet moment of solitude, listening to the rain spattering the car (not mocking my intention so much as just the world doing its own thing). I sit for a long while just enjoying the sound of it.
I feel safe and at peace. The morning is quiet, if rainy, and pleasantly relaxed. I listen to the rain and watch the sky slowly take on color, and the horizon begins to reveal details as day breaks. The rain drums aggressively on the roof of the car like an agitated, nervous child. I’m warm and dry, dressed for a rainy day walk, if there is a suitable break in the rain (I don’t mind a drizzle and enjoy a misty rain, but this is more a drenching shower of a rainstorm).
Yesterday I spent the day making holiday cards. I’ve got a fairly short list of recipients, mostly family, and it was a fun activity. Today I’ll finish that project and tuck each card into an envelope ready to go to the post office on Monday.
I stir restlessly in my seat. The rain brings pain with it in the form of my arthritis flaring up. A walk would help, but I don’t see that happening this morning. I chuckle to myself; I’d certainly be on the trail at this point, if it weren’t raining so damned hard.
I smile and think fondly of my Traveling Partner. He delighted me yesterday by making excellent breakfast sandwiches after I returned from my walk. Totally a surprise. I stepped out of the shower smelling bacon, and found him in the kitchen making breakfast. Delicious. I felt so loved. It’s a feeling that lasts, and I feel it still. I sit with my smile and my thoughts, and hoping that he is sleeping in.
I don’t know what today holds, but if it’s another day like yesterday, my partner and I doing our own thing and hanging out together, it’ll be more than enough. I’m still coasting on that feeling of joy. I think about his project and mine, and I make a short list of things I also want to get done before I start a new work week.
Sometimes life throws a curve ball. Our path may take a detour we didn’t see coming. Sometimes unexpected circumstances are a big deal, with a lot of upheaval or moments of adversity and tears. Sometimes it’s just a rainy morning that makes an early walk less feasible (or at least less pleasant).
Waiting for a break in the rain.
I woke early and tried to slip away without waking my Traveling Partner. It wasn’t raining when I left the house, but it clearly had been. By the time I got to the trailhead and parked the car, it was raining pretty steadily. I sat contentedly listening to the rain fall, spattering the car, meditating and watching the dawn become day.
I managed to get a half mile in, between rain showers, then another after warming up in the car. It’s somehow very satisfying and I find myself thinking “nice morning for it”, in spite of the rain and the autumn chill. What a lovely weekend.
I think of a distant and very dear friend who is ill, and wonder if I should make the drive down to see her again, very soon? I worry. She’s going through a rough time and has COVID on top of that. 😦
The sky continues to lighten. I watch the few soggy leaves still clinging to branches flutter in the breeze. Now and then a gust of wind rocks the car. I wait for another break in the rain and think about love.
When the rain began to fall, so close to the forecasted time it may as well have been a plan, rather than a weather forecast, I was long gone. Already home. Already showered. Already astonished to feel the bone-deep fatigue that had set in once I got home. My Traveling Partner seems glad to see me. We both get something out of these opportunities to miss each other.
Site 146, C Loop
I had originally planned to be camping Wednesday through Sunday, home on Sunday afternoon. Instead, I got started a day later (bills to pay, frankly, and needed the work hours), and then called it “done” a day early, when the weather forecast became pretty insistent on the chance of rain going from “possible” to “probable” to “count on it”. I am decently well-equipped, even for camping in the rain, but… I didn’t bring the extra overhead cover I’d need to make cooking outdoors comfortable in a downpour, and didn’t look forward to breaking down my camp in a rainstorm, either. I woke this morning having already coordinated with my Traveling Partner, who seemed more eager to see me than inconvenienced by my early return. The sky threatened rain before day break, but the forecast stayed true; no rain fell. I had coffee and a bite of breakfast, tidied up, and got started packing up.
Looking like rain.
I got in some good walks. Got some good pictures. Got some solo time thinking my own thoughts and being master of my time, my intentions, and my effort from the moment I woke each day until sleep took me down each night. I meditated. I watched the fire grow cold on a chilly evening alone with the woman in the mirror. I picked up my sketchbook to sketch or paint, and put it down without doing anything with it at all. I picked up a book to read, and put that down, too. Turns out, this trip was me, with my thoughts, and little more than that. I cooked. I tended the fire. I listened to my inner voice, and reflected on my experience.
…It was an amazing time to spend with myself…
“hearing myself think”
I don’t want to mischaracterize my camping trip; I was in a colossal managed state park that has some 400+ individual sites, arranged in loops A through H. This place is huge – and popular. Jessie M. Honeyman Memorial State Park is on the Oregon Dunes. It’s an amazing place, with several activities available, including ATVs on the dunes, kayaking or paddle boating on either of two lakes, fishing, swimming, hiking, biking, or joining the merry oldsters in the Welcome Center to work on the latest jigsaw puzzle. Popular + activities = crowded. I wasn’t surprised that most of the sites seemed full, even on a Thursday. This fucking place looks like an outdoor gear convention. It was hard to “be alone” surrounded by people – I got most of what I needed fireside in the evening, or out on the trail during the day. It’s a friendly place. And noisy. So noisy. I can’t even go hard enough on this point; it’s fucking noisy. ATV’s. Packs of shrieking kids. Wailing babies. Adults who should know better yelling to each other across multiple sites worth of distance. Loud trucks and loud talkers. It’s fucking noisy. It’s not a great choice for camping if quiet is what you’re looking for, is what I’m saying. I was regularly approached in camp by strangers asking questions about my solar panels, or the fridge, or some other piece of gear or something else that caught their eye. Like I said; a friendly place.
…I’m not really “approachably friendly” with strangers, though, so this tested my ability to be polite and gracious, which are skills worth cultivating…
I’m glad to be home. I slept poorly. There were too many “feral children” running about loose without supervision in small packs of “new best friends”. There were too many dogs on leashes (and a few that weren’t, which was worse) and many of them barked. Like, a lot. People camping in family groups taking several sites were common… and loud. Very loud. “Rambunctious” seems like a good word for it. In spite of all of that, I had a good time, and got a lot of what I needed out of the time spent more or less alone. Worth it.
…The drive was lovely, both directions, and felt very much as if I were the only car on the road at all. It was quite wonderful.
Anyway. I’m home. There’s more to say about it, more to process. Pictures to look over. Anecdotes to share when the context and timing are right. I sit here listening to the rain fall (on a video, as rain falls outside), happy to be home. Happy to be.
A frown crosses my thoughts briefly…some bad news shared by a friend taking the form of a facial expression as I recall it. I breathe, exhale, and let that go for the moment. I’ll come back to it, later.
It’s a metaphor.
I sit here with my feet up, feeling grateful, contented, and loved. It’s enough. More than enough. It’s a firm foundation for all the many new beginnings to come. 🙂
Evening Light 