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Look and Listen

September 19, 2025 //
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As I left the house this morning, I spotted the crescent moon rising, almost appearing to chase Venus up the night sky.  I took a picture of it when I got to the trailhead, from the wide open vantage point at the edge of the vineyard on the road in.

Crescent moon rising, Venus and Regulus close by.

I was surprised to get a clear image with my cellphone camera, and even more surprised to see a second star in the image when I zoomed in. “What is that?”, I wondered. I looked it up on Space.com and learned that it is a somewhat unusual sighting, and that the second star is Regulus. I was delighted to get a picture of it.

The morning is quite chilly, and the dawn sky is clear. My footsteps seem loud as I walk past deserted preparations for some event set up at the edge of the trail, filling the area where I usually park. White tents and rows of folding chairs and tables are set out, ready. I walk on by; it’s not for me. I think about that as I walk. The idea that relatively few things in life or the world, generally, are “for me” or about me at all fills my thoughts. It’s a big world, and I am one human being.

I get to my halfway point, still contemplating the many sights I will never see with my own eyes. Events I’ll never attend – or even be invited to. The people I will never meet are a vast multitude larger by far than the number of people I have met. There are books that I’ll never read, having never known they exist, and others I may choose not to read because they aren’t “for me” in some recognizable way. There are groups I am excluded from, and accolades I do not qualify for. There are places I will never visit – it’s a big world, and time is finite. Hell, I’m not even “allowed” to visit some places, for one reason or another. I’m not vexed by any of this. Our mortal time is too limited to do and see everything, anyway.

These are not musings to do with unfairness, inequity, or unjustly placing restrictions on accessibility of places, events, or experiences that should otherwise be open to a particular demographic being out-grouped by shitheads for some trumped up bullshit justification. These are simply thoughts about limitations in life, and those do exist. Some people (maybe most) won’t wake early enough to see this morning’s crescent moon. They weren’t excluded – though they did miss seeing it. There’s a distinction to make there.

Daybreak comes. The sunrise begins. The sky lightens. A new day dawns. We see what we turn our attention to, but we still have to look, and observe, and bring awareness to the moment. We make choices. We are easily distracted. The more of our precious limited mortal lifetime we spend staring at our phones, tablets, and screens, the less able we may be to sit quietly and watch the sun rise.

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts on a chilly autumn morning, watching the crescent moon climb the dawn horizon, as though seeking to make room for the sun. Soon, it will be time to begin again.

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Categories autumn, breathe, Free Will, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Welcoming the Moment

September 14, 2025 //
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It was dark when I left the house, even though it was an hour or more later than usual. I’m slowly convincing my body to shift the day to a somewhat later start (and finish). It was still so dark partly due to the rainy weather and dense cloud cover. It was still raining gently, but had clearly rained harder during the night. I have a vague recollection of hearing the pleasant percussive chime of raindrops on a vent cover, during the night when I got up briefly to pee.

I arrived at the trailhead as the rain became a soft misty drizzle, grateful for my rain poncho, but I’m laughing now, because it isn’t raining at all, and my poncho’s only purpose is as a dry spot on this fence rail, where I often like to sit for some little while.

A favorite perspective on a moment.

My Traveling Partner pings me, asking if I am sitting in the car, waiting for the rain to stop? It’s not raining here, now, and I share that information. Simple communication, and I feel loved that he cares enough to ask. I sit watching the many little birds doing little bird things; they don’t mind the wet morning at all. Looks like the squirrels and chipmunks are sleeping in, though, no sign of them this morning. There are more migratory birds on the ponds each time I come, lately, another sign of autumn approaching. The cool rain-fresh air is another sign. The dark green of the oaks isn’t any different than summer, too early for them to change, but other deciduous trees are beginning to turn and I see hints of yellow and orange here and there. Somewhere a rooster crows.

This is one moment of many in this finite mortal lifetime, and soon I’ll return home to other moments, with a sense of being refreshed and recharged, feeling rested and purposeful, ready to tackle the Sunday housekeeping chores, and maybe bake something.

My mind wanders to yesterday. My butane stove, which I use with my wok, failed me. The nozzle or the carburetor, or some smaller part between the two, wasn’t working. It wasn’t an expensive stove, and may have simply used up what it had to offer, but it was a gift from my Traveling Partner. We looked it over together to determine whether to fix it or replace it, and decided in favor of replacement, though we both have the necessary skills to tear it down, and rebuild it. (It wasn’t obvious whether it could be repaired and safely used after doing so.) If the replacement really does arrive today, I suppose I’ll make stir fry tonight and try it out…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice start to the day. I enjoy rain, and the fragrance of petrichor. I watch a rather large nutria waddling down the gentle slope from the oaks back to the edge of the pond, where I see her little ones playing on the bank. They pay no attention to me.

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts, aware of my breathing and distant sounds of traffic. I remind myself to stop at the big box DIY store on my way home for something my beloved asked me to pick up for him. I’m pleased that I didn’t forget, and didn’t need my many notes and reminders on my calendar, shopping list, and to-do list. Win! It’s a small thing, but always pleases me to remember something without help.

These gentle lovely moments really matter. I sit with this one awhile. There is no hurry, today, and there is value in savoring each moment of joy. This moment will end, soon enough, and it will be time to head back down the path and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War

Feeling the Chill

September 13, 2025 //
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I slept in. I got to the trailhead after daybreak. No colorful sunrise, the morning is misty and gray, and a little chilly. Fog obscures the meadow on the other side of the highway, as I park.

Not much of a view this morning.

I head down the trail contentedly, feeling rested and ready for the day ahead. It is the weekend. I walk with my thoughts, and the sounds of distant traffic and geese on the marsh. The meadow is brown and waiting for the autumn rain to come.

I get to my halfway point and take a seat on a nearby fence rail looking out over meadow and marsh, enjoying the stillness and the misty morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax, taking time for meditation and reflection, and making room for a moment of gratitude. There’s real joy (for me) in the simple pleasure of a moment of contentment and quiet. I savor it. The world being the place it presently is, it doesn’t do to waste a moment of contentment and joy by overlooking it.

I’ve got a project today, that fits into the needs of hearth and home, and also the garden. I am planning to tidy the garden shed, which is crowded with this and that, and no longer the convenient solution it was intended to be. I won’t need to work around the oppressive summer heat, it is a cool day, making me glad I delayed this project a couple weekends. I may even be looking forward to it.

Perspective on a moment.

From my pleasant vantage point, I sit with my thoughts a little while, reflecting on the day ahead. I feel fortunate to enjoy such moments. Grateful. I breathe the morning air deeply, filling my lungs with fresh air, and my heart with fond appreciation and gratitude. The mist begins to thicken and envelope me. I watch the trees around me beginning to fade into the mist with child-like wonder. As the mist becomes a proper dense fog, the sounds of distant traffic are muffled and begin to be lost in the din of my tinnitus.

Grocery shopping, first, then my project and time spent hanging out with my Traveling Partner. Tomorrow, all the usual housekeeping stuff, preparing for a new week. My anxiety about being laid off, and then of being in a new job, has died away completely. Things feel pretty routine and ordinary. It’s a good feeling.

I sigh contentedly, and get ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Uncategorized

House of Pain

August 31, 2025 //
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Yesterday was a pretty relaxed day of getting things done, although not that many things, and rather slowly. I spent the day in pain, and that put pain management as a high priority, competing for my attention through the day. My Traveling Partner was also dealing with pain, and struggling to focus on the work he was doing, too. We managed to enjoy the day together in spite of pain. Later, when the Anxious Adventurer returned home from work, he brought his own pain along with him. Nonetheless, we all mostly managed to mostly enjoy the time, without complicating the experience with pain. That’s something, and I sit for a moment this morning, grateful for the good day yesterday in spite of pain. Everybody hurts sometimes… Living with chronic pain is its own special hell, but it can be managed to some extent.

It could have been worse; I found enough “spoons” to bake cookies.

I woke this morning from a deep restful sleep, and was awake for a few minutes before I realized I wasn’t asleep anymore. I got dressed and headed to the local trailhead I favor. I don’t have any reason to drive further, really, and this is a pleasant trail and it is a quiet morning. It’s Labor Day weekend, and there’s no one here but me, so far. It’s the sort of weekend a lot of families use to go to the coast or to the mountains, this little suburban trail is neither of those.

A hazy summer sky reminds me that the world is burning, elsewhere.

I walk the trail, down through the oaks, between the parking lot and the vineyards, winding around the bend past mature grape vines, and down into the trees that grow more densely along the creek, until I get to this spot, convenient to sit a moment with my thoughts. I’ve grown very comfortable with practicing meditation outside, somewhere along the trail I’ve chosen, in the early morning. I’m rarely interrupted. It’s pleasant and quite calming. Lovely morning for it, in spite of the haze of distant wildfires.

… I’m still in pain (again) today. Like a lot of people, I live with chronic pain…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I reflect on age, and aging, the vagaries of the absolutely crap-tacular US healthcare system, and what it means to balance endurance with joy, and what it takes to thrive in spite of chronic pain. Then I let all that go and enjoy this lovely morning moment of quiet contentment out here on this trail. I’m less anxious, knowing I’ll go back to work on Tuesday, which is helpful. Like a lot of other things, anxiety tends to worsen pain, or at least seems to make it more difficult to manage or ignore.

I watch some chipmunks playing at the edge of the trees. They delight me. I would definitely pet one if it came close enough, and laugh at myself over it. It’s probably not a good idea to try to pet wild creatures, generally speaking. I spend a moment wondering if I’m such a chucklehead that I’d actually do something so foolish, or would I only want to? I find myself unable to be entirely certain. I hope I’d choose wisely. My ability to apply self-restraint and impulse control are much better on the GLP-1 I’ve now been taking for more than a year. It has improved my life quite a lot, because I’m not so likely to do dumb shit “because it seemed like the thing to do at the time”.

The rising sun illuminates the strip of meadow beyond the trail that separates the forest from the vineyard. I see an elder couple walking their dog slowly approaching from the farthest point along the trail still visible to me. Nice morning for it, and I knew I wouldn’t have the trail to myself indefinitely. They wave and offer a cheery greeting as they pass. I wave back and reply.

More housework today, I guess, that’s the routine. Pain slows me down, but I try to avoid letting it stop me. There’s just too much to do, and we’re all in pain (in this household) – someone still has to get things done. When we all commit to doing what we can and coordinate our efforts, we still manage a pretty good quality of life, and sometimes even manage to forget the pain for a little while. It doesn’t do to let things go too long, it’s harder to catch up than it is to stay on top of things.

…New job Tuesday…

I sigh to myself and enjoy the cool summer morning and the scents on the breeze. Meadow flowers. Mown grasses. Forest and creek. The lavender scent I’m wearing, that reaches my nose when I move. My hair feels soft on my shoulders and I wonder again if I should get it cut? I feel comfortable in my skin in spite of my pain, and grateful to have worn a sweater over my lighter summer top. The first hints of autumn approaching are all around, and the cooler morning is just one sign.

I’ve lingered here awhile and my legs are beginning to feel stiff. It’s time to walk on. This day is a good one to get things done… but there are definitely some verbs involved. lol It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets

Where Does This Path Lead?

August 30, 2025 //
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I arrived at the trailhead just at daybreak. No waiting required. I laced up my boots, grabbed my cane and stepped out onto the trail dimly visible in the gloom of dawn. There’s a dense mist clinging to the low places, and the air feels a bit more brisk than recent summer mornings. Fall is coming.

A new day, a new moment, a new beginning.

The trail crunched under my feet as I stepped along carefully. With each step the sky lightened, dawn becoming day, and more of the trail being revealed to my eyes. Sounds in the brush became little birds, an occasional squirrel, and a possum. Further down the trail, I passed by a family of racoons, and wondered if it is the same family of racoons I’ve seen here before? Out in the mists of the meadow, I see a small herd of deer. I have the sensation of solitude, though I know there are other people on the trail this morning; I saw two cars parked nearby when I arrived.

I walk with my thoughts. I’m back to work Tuesday, though not inclined to fuss about it much or celebrate too eagerly. No particular doubts or concerns that it could fall through, it’s not that at all, it’s more that these feel like uncertain times, and I’m very fortunate to secure a new position so quickly, and not inclined to have that information create stress for folks who may not be similarly fortunate. So, I take a chill and somewhat discreet approach to the whole thing, to avoid being callous or haplessly cruel. I am excited though. It’s a new beginning, and a new adventure.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It is a Saturday, at the start of a long weekend. I don’t have any plans, besides a bit of housework and getting myself ready for a new job. I decide to go to the co-work space I’d been frequenting in my previous job, for day 1. Convenient, familiar… and “colleagues” there will appreciate knowing I am back to work and okay. I’ll work out something closer for the long-term if I can. Gas is expensive and it makes very little sense to drive so far to work remotely! 😂

Summer oaks

Arriving at my halfway point, I see racoons playing where I generally take a seat, on a fallen log. I walk on a little way to a large rock, out in the open, past the oaks. The meadow stretches out before me, and I can see headlights sweep around the curve of the highway beyond. In a few more weeks, most of the meadow will become marsh, and the seasonal trail will close. I take a deep breath of the fresh morning air. It smells of summer flowers and mown grass.

I’m feeling mostly pretty ready for the changes ahead. I know change can be hard on me, though, and I give thought to what sorts of things might ease the feelings of upheaval and disruption. Like doing the first shift from a familiar co-work space, there are little things I can do to make the experience feel more comfortable. It’s mostly a matter of good self-care.

I watch the dawn become day. No sunrise, really, the sun is obscured by dense gray clouds on the eastern horizon and the clear starry night sky has become a milky overcast backdrop for silhouetted birds and trees, with only the faintest suggestion of blue. Will it rain, I wonder? The forecast says it’s unlikely, but the air smells like rain, here, now. The morning mist spreads, creeping towards me until I am surrounded by it. I’ll sit awhile longer with my thoughts… and enjoy this new beginning.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being
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