I’m sitting in the cold. It’s a foggy autumn morning early in November. I’m perched on a fence rail, not especially comfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to be worth complaining about or changing. It’s still dark. When I sat down I turned off my headlamp. I don’t really prefer walking with a headlamp; the spooky shadows in the periphery of my narrow view are sometimes unsettling. I can hear the traffic on the nearby highway, although there isn’t much of it, and the predawn darkness is so quiet, my tinnitus ends up being the loudest thing I hear. I sneeze unexpectedly, and somewhere nearby I am answered by the “gronk!” of a goose on the marsh, as if telling me to “keep it down”. It’s early. It’s quiet. The moment is mine.
The clouds overhead leave room for stars to peek through. I sit with my thoughts awhile. A raccoon and her youngsters walk past me, on the other side of the trail. She sees me, but doesn’t seem concerned or even particularly interested. She clearly has places to go. I sit quietly, watching, breathing, listening. I see the first hints of daybreak on the eastern horizon, a jagged sliver of sky between strips of cloud.
…How am I in this much pain??…
I sigh to myself. I meditate in the cold and watch the sky slowly lighten as dawn approaches. I think my mortal thoughts. Life is too brief, I find myself thinking. By the time we mostly figure out the stuff that matters most to us individually, we’re nearing the end of our precious (and limited) mortal lifetime. Seems a bit unfair somehow. I think about my Granny, my Mother, Grandmother Doris, Meemom, my Dear Friend, my girlfriend T, Laura-the-actress, other women in my life, gone now. What did they leave unfinished? What has been lost to time and mortality, gone forever because what isn’t shared may never be known? I think about art, and paintings yet to be painted, inspiration yet to be acted upon, and how irksome this finite mortal lifetime can seem. There’s so much to do, and to feel, and to experience! Where will I find the time?
The trail has slowly become a slightly paler smudge of darkness between meadow and marsh. I don’t feel like turning my headlamp on, and I’m not in a hurry. I have the moment to myself. I decide to sit awhile longer before I head back up the trail to begin again.
Evening Light 