Here it is, the morning of All Saints Day, the Day of the Dead in some traditions. The wind blows fiercely, wuthering and howling past the car, and rocking it as it blows past. Autumn leaves fall, blown sideways they gather in drifts against curbs and embankments. The sturdy oaks sway stiffly in the wind. Even in the predawn darkness, I see their shapes tossing to and fro against the backdrop of the pale stormy sky illuminated from below.
I stepped out of the car at the trailhead, and was almost knocked off my feet by the wind. The everyday challenges of life seem far away and insignificant right now; there’s this wind to deal with first. My hair is lifted, tossed, and tangled by the wind. It pushes me to the side of the trail, as if each new gust seeks to push me into the marsh, or off the edge of the bank into the lake. The wind howls through the trees, insistent. Then it begins to rain. First a sprinkle, then a downpour.
I’m nearer to the photographer’s blind than I am to my usual halfway point. I’m grateful to find it unlocked. The trailhead parking is farther on, and I’d have been soaked to the skin trying to make it back up the trail, blinded by the wind-driven rain. Inside the blind I’m sheltered. It’s quite noisy. The blind is a small box-shape constructed of wood. Some effort to camouflage it has also served to make it mostly safe from the rain. There’s no floor, but a small crate serves as a seat. The view of the marsh and the small lake and ponds that dot it is very good, with views of east and west. No windows, really, just openings covered by hinged drop down panels that can be propped open, for a photographer’s convenience. With the wind blowing the rain about so wildly, I open only one, and only about halfway, letting the rain drip off of it. Very little rain makes it into the blind, although the dirt floor manages to be soft and a little muddy, anyway.
I sigh contentedly. I enjoy the sound of the rain on the wood roof of the photographer’s blind. Daybreak soon. I listen for a break in the rain, without being stressed over time or progress. It’s quite early and I have no reason to hurry. After my walk, my Saturday routine will take me to the grocery store, and I’ll run any other errands on the way home, after that. Very ordinary, “nothing to see here”, and I smile to myself. I have lived through some exciting times. I’ll take ordinary, and embrace and enjoy it. There is plenty of joy and satisfaction to be found in life’s ordinary moments. I’m not chasing adventure. It’s not any lack of enthusiasm for new experiences or fear of the unknown, I just personally think excitement, generally, is overvalued. I’m rarely bored as an individual, and any time I might seem to be facing boredom, I quickly move on to… something. There’s always something. It’s a big world and the menu in The Strange Diner is vast and full of options.
Daybreak comes. The rain falls as a dense misty curtain, obscuring the view of the marsh. I see the trees more clearly, tossing wildly in the wind. Stormy morning. I sigh, resigned to a very rainy walk back to the trailhead. Not yet, though.
A fluffy mass tucked against the corner of a narrow “shelf”, created by the exposed interior 2 x 4s which the blind is built from, shifts as if alive, and I see that I’m not alone here. Some small mammal has built its nest inside the blind. Field mice maybe? I scooch back a bit and watch without making any move to disturb the nest. The sky outside is now a dirty looking gray. “Sunrise” has come, colorless and subtle, revealed only by the view taking on more detail. It barely counts as “daylight”.
… Stormy weather…
The rain slows to a sprinkle. I’m not expecting that to last and quickly plan my exit and the shortest route to the parking, and get to my feet as I exit the blind. It’s clearly time to get out of the marsh. The path is partly covered in rainwater – or is this the lake beginning to rise beyond the bank? In either case, it’s time to begin again.
As I cross the marsh, I think I see someone else on the trail, in spite of the rain… but I quickly lose sight of them, and find myself wondering if they were ever even there… It is, after all, the Day of the Dead, and life is full of mysteries.
Evening Light 