There’s something about the quality of the light in the evening.
Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Stop – or, at least pause. Breathe in the evening calm. Exhale and embrace the next moment. Moments are so fleeting.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I sit for a pleasant little while in the stillness between chapters of The Stand. Will I finish it? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m enjoying the time spent reading, carried off to some other place, although I’m definitely glad it is a book and not a first hand account! 😆
The light is going dim. The distance between day’s end and Road’s End seems far, now, connected only by moments.
… There’s something about the evening light that beckons me to pause and reflect…
I miss my Traveling Partner more than a bit, paradoxically, considering how much I’ve been craving time alone with my thoughts. I sigh to myself, and pick up my book. I’ll begin again in a moment – a different moment – for now I’ll just watch the tide come in as the evening light fades to night.
It is a Friday morning. I’m sitting at the halfway point of my morning walk. I sat here for some little while before I pulled my hands from my pockets to write. This morning I made a point to grab my heavy fleece, scarf, and gloves from my gear bin in the car. Practical. I’d feel smart to have done so, but it’s more to do with being reminded they are there for me, last night, when I went looking for a spare filter cone for an evening coffee for my Traveling Partner who had put the ceramic one in the dishwasher.
… Reminders are helpful…
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I feel the cold. Another near-freezing morning, but already daylight (jeez, how long was I sitting?) and things will warm up pretty quickly. Probably. Change is, and warmer days are coming.
I take my medication on time, double-checking that I took all of it. I missed a small pill yesterday morning that resulted in an unfortunate (and deeply unpleasant) emotional meltdown over nothing of consequence. It was inexplicable, and I was grateful to discover my mistake a little later, and felt more myself shortly after taking it. I think there is too little discussion about the very real psychiatric and mind or mood altering effects of common prescription (and nonprescription) drugs. We could do better.
A small herd of deer quietly and slowly walks past me, one by one. The group of does steps from the trees on the creek side of the trail, each looking at me cautiously as she steps into the more open space, and they cross the trail, and continue into the vineyard, nibbling on choice grasses and tender green shoots. Spring. They’re hungry and lean from winter, and a couple are also clearly pregnant. They are more concerned with finding food than they are with my quiet presence. They walk on, and disappear from view.
My Traveling Partner offered to disappear for the weekend. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. I feel very loved that he offered. I could fuck off to the coast, myself, and get some solitary time, but the expense is difficult to justify. I sit thinking about things he said yesterday evening about self-care and taking the time I need, and setting better (clearer) boundaries when I’m reaching the limits of my resources. He reminded me that he no longer needs the near-continuous care I was providing after his surgery. This is definitely true. I’m relieved and happy every time I think about it. I’m also struggling to adjust, to step back, to give myself a break.
…We become what we practice…
I sit reflecting on what I need, myself, to be well and healthy, and to thrive in my life. I remind myself how adaptable I am. I remind myself that we become what we practice. I sigh quietly and watch the vapor of my breath dissipate in the chilly morning air.
… Maybe a drive to the coast and coffee on the beach this weekend, if my beloved stays home? Or a very different sort of self-care in the form of some retail therapy? (I could do with some new bras, and prefer to shop for such things in person.) Maybe a different hike somewhere new? Another sigh. No idea. I could stay home and paint, or finish tidying up my studio… I could work in my garden. I feel the “want to’s” begin to collide with the “have to’s”, and feel annoyed with myself when they blend and blur and begin to morph into more of the same scrambling and striving and working that I’ve trapped myself in for awhile now. I should work on that.
I laugh out loud. Adulting is hard. I’m tired. I’m also making choices. I can make different ones. I get to my feet, looking down the trail into the future. It’s time to begin, again.
I am awake. I’m groggy and clumsy with sleepiness I haven’t been able to shake off yet. Initially, I wasn’t sure what woke me from my deep sound sleep. I rarely get such sleep. I struggled to sit up, to disentangle myself from the hose of my CPAP mask. When I sat up the room was dark. What the hell woke me? I had a vague recollection of hearing my name called, and trying to understand what was being said to me.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I got up, dressed, and left the house, still wondering what woke me. My Traveling Partner messaged me on the way out. It wasn’t an apology for waking me. It was information about his poor sleep through the night. Context? The timing suggests he did indeed wake me, and it’s pretty close to my usual time, anyway. I shrug it off, yawn, and pull out of the driveway. Maybe my walk in the fresh Spring air will wake me more thoroughly?
… Sucks that he had a bad night, though…
I sat stupidly at the trailhead, in my car, for rather a long time before I was clearheaded enough to recall that taking actual steps would be required. I just wasn’t awake. Once I noticed I was “stalled”, I grabbed my cane and set off down the trail, my mind still quite foggy.
It’s a beginning.
Down the trail, past blooming cherry trees, and tall oaks. Past vineyards with tall green grass growing between the rows. Along the creek and the strip of forest growing along the bank, I walk listening to the loud calls of the robins and softer calls of a variety of small brown birds. Eventually, I reach my halfway point and stop for a moment. Mostly awake by this point, I sit and write, meditate, and reflect. New day, new challenges…
… Lovely weekend, now over…
It is a Monday. No dread, really, but little enthusiasm, either. I’m here. I’m ready to do the things, but the day ahead doesn’t fulfill any particular purpose of my own. It’s a job. I do the work, collect a paycheck, and live my life. I chuckle to myself, without merriment. Humanity could do better than this.
I sigh to myself. The air tastes sweet and I wish I were headed for some destination, and not to a desk and a digital workspace. I’d rather be at my easel or in my garden. I’d rather be sleeping in or drinking too much coffee at some sidewalk cafe in some forgotten little beach town somewhere, or hanging out with friends beside a crackling fire. This is not that time and I let it go. Clinging to some other moment or some desired moment that is not now robs me of the chance to savor this one. I smile and look at the many signs of Spring around me. A carpet of tiny yellow flowers in the grass beckons me to sit awhile… The clock is ticking, though, and I’ll soon have to begin again. It is, after all, a Monday.
One moment of many, insignificant by itself.
I get to my feet with a sigh, a yawn, and a sneeze, and turn to head back down the trail the way I came. It’s time.
I’m sitting at the “halfway point” of this walk on a familiar trail, chuckling to myself over my lack of precision. It’s not actually halfway. Depending on whether I complete the loop, or turn back the way I came, it’s more or notably less than halfway. lol It’s a convenient stopping point sort of halfway-ish, with a pleasant spot to sit for a few minutes, that’s all. I routinely refer to this as halfway, in much the same way I might cut a sandwich in two pieces, and call each piece “half” of the sandwich without regard to how evenly split it actually is. Just saying… I’m not measuring these things for accuracy.
… I’m living my life…
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
The morning feels strangely compressed. Shorter. As though the minutes are somehow going faster. I know it’s not an accurate perception of time. Firstly, I slept past my sunrise alarm, and woke some minutes later to the lights on full brightness. Now, I’ve been sitting here listening to birds chirping and singing alongside this trail for who-knows-how-long – I definitely don’t. I didn’t check the time when I stopped. It’s been… some time. Honestly, it’s already time to head back to the car. Here I sit. Quietly. Contentedly. Enjoying this moment. It’s enough. I’d linger in this feeling for much longer, were that an option. All day maybe, as I might choose to do while camping. I sigh to myself and think my thoughts awhile longer.
… It’s time to plan some sort of camping trip, maybe…
Pause for a moment. Breathe.
Vita contemplativa. Ichi-go ichi-e. Each time for the first time, each moment the only moment. What a deliciously luxurious feeling it is to slow down. I stretch and enjoy the sunrise.
I know, I know, moments are fleeting. The clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again. I will…soon. For now, I’m enjoying this lovely moment.
I’ve started including a disclaimer on new posts asserting my refusal to use available LLM tools for writing. I’m annoyed to feel that doing so is necessary, but here we are. I like writing. Why would I cheat to be faster or more frequent, or worse – to camouflage a lack of anything to say? Ridiculous. No thank you. Keep those crappy LLM “tools” away from me. I’ll just write, thanks. 😆
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
In all seriousness, adding that disclaimer is at least a real action I can take to express my objection to having bullshit “AI” garbage forced on me everywhere. I don’t like it. I don’t use it. I’d prefer to keep my own mind sharp, and also to take the time to learn new things myself.
Getting an early start on a new day.
Brunch with a friend, later, on the other side of this trail. I’m eager to enjoy brunch, but I’m in no great hurry, so I wait for the sun.
After a short wait dawn illuminates the trail and I set off, hands jammed into warm pockets.
Chilly morning. Cold. At just 2°C, it’s a colder morning than we’ve had in several weeks. I’m glad I didn’t rush to plant delicate vegetables more suited to milder weather. That has often been a temptation for me and in many years past, I’ve chosen poorly. This year I focused on the laborious work of cleaning up the garden beds, weeding, and pruning. I am impressed by my own good decision making and self-restraint, recalling years past and frozen seedlings that failed to thrive. I inhale the cold air of early Spring on the marsh. The surface of the marsh ponds are silvery, reflecting the sky as the sun rises. Nice morning, if a bit cold. I’m grateful for the warm sweater I chose this morning.
Choices matter. Actions matter more.
A flock of geese takes flight from the marsh pond behind me. I’m seated on a fence rail betwixt the pond and the trail. The flock rises almost as one and I wonder how they all knew to do so just then? They pass overhead and I pull the hood of my fleece hoodie over my head “just in case”. I consider myself fortunate; no bird poop spatters me. I sit with my gratitude. Sometimes small things leave a big impression; I was once hit by falling bird poop, and getting it out of my hair seriously grossed me out. It may never occur again. I sit considering the numbers of birds, and people, and how often a bird passes overhead, and how rarely someone is actually hit by falling bird poop. It’s not really a high risk.
Go outside anyway. Walk a trail. Smell the flowers. See a sunrise. Trying to avoid all of the obstacles and potential misadventures on life’s journey only results in a life never really lived.
Choose. Do the thing. Experience the moment. Fail, learn, and grow. Walk a path you know you have chosen for yourself. Don’t rely overmuch on your “heroes” to lead the way. They too are mortal creatures with very human failings. Topple them from their pedestals and examine the truth of who they are (or were) as people and maybe do better. It may be easier than you think.
The sunrise is pearly pink and delicate orange, this morning. The meadow grass is tipped with frost. My breath turns to mist each time I exhale. I sit with the moment, enjoying the quiet, feeling myself relax. Looking towards the far side of the marsh and meadow, I see a green haze in the treetops. Definitely Spring.
I sit awhile longer, thinking about this or that vexing circumstance. Each time a grievance or complaint rises in my consciousness demanding my attention, I look it over and ask myself two questions,
Does this really matter enough to give it attention and energy at all?
If the answer (for me) is “yes”, then what will I do about that?
If human primates put as much energy into solving their problems (or changing their circumstances) as they do just bitching about them, we’d likely have a very different world. I don’t know what that world would be like, but I do like thinking about it.
I sigh to myself, filling my lungs with cold Spring air. The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. What will you do when it is time to begin again? I think about the path ahead of me, and get to my feet.
Evening Light 