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Sometimes It Rains

September 21, 2025 //
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I slept well, and deeply. I woke later than usual, and in less pain than yesterday. I quickly dressed and left the house, hoping I was sufficiently quiet to avoid waking my Traveling Partner.

I stepped out of the house, pulling the door closed behind me. It took me several steps down the walkway to recognize that it was raining. I wasn’t yet completely awake. Instead of the much closer local trail, I head up the highway to the nature park, hoping to catch a break in the rain – at least enough to walk the trail there.

I am here, now, and it is still raining, and not yet light enough to walk the trail safely in these conditions. I could give up and just go home, but chances are good that the household is still quiet and dark, the occupants still sleeping. I decide to wait for daybreak and see how things look then.

… The equinox is Monday. The rain feels appropriate for the change of season…

It’s still another 15 minutes or so until daybreak, and another half hour, about, until sunrise. The hourly weather forecast suggests the rain will stop with the sunrise, conveniently enough. I settle in for the wait, and spend some time meditating.

My timer chimes softly as daybreak arrives on this gray and rainy morning. The rain has stopped. I put on my boots and stuff a travel pack of tissues into the pocket of my fleece. My rain poncho seems a wise choice, and I rummage in my gear bin for it in the gloom, unwilling to light a light, enjoying the gentle dimness before dawn becomes day. I can make out the pavement of the parking lot quite clearly now, and see the sheen of recent rain reflecting streetlights and passing headlights. A sprinkling of rain falls, then quickly stops. I put on my rain poncho, and grab my cane. A rainy breeze stirs the trees and lifts my hair, still dry for the moment, but that won’t last. I chuckle and pull a hair tie off the gear shift knob and tie my hair back, out of my face and less likely to vex me if I get rained on for any distance.

Pain or rain, doesn’t really matter; it is easy to let circumstances stop me doing what needs to be done, or the things I enjoy. It can be a real effort to drag myself past whatever obstacles lie in life’s path, but it’s worth to push on, to get past the momentary heartaches, obstacles, and assorted inconvenient pains in the ass, and get on with living, any time I can. It’s going to rain sometimes – but that doesn’t have to stop me. (It has required so much practice to get to this place!) I’m grateful for each new beginning that has lead me to this moment.

I’ve got enough light to see, now, though sunrise is still some time in the future. It’s sprinkling gently, but not raining hard enough to stop me, and I’ve got the luxury of having the trail entirely to myself this morning. I smile at the rain drops falling on my face, and taste the drops on my lips. It’s a fine time to begin again. Let it rain, I’m fine with that.

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

Weather or Not

September 5, 2025 //
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I am waiting for the sun, at a local trailhead. I’m not in any hurry, and it is a calm, quiet morning. The forecast says maybe it’ll rain, later. For now, I amuse myself wondering if that’s lightning I just saw. What I definitely saw was a brief very bright diffuse flash of light somewhere beyond the clouds obscuring the predawn sky, and then, later, another. I didn’t hear thunder, so I guess that if it was lightning (what else would it be?) it must be quite far away.

In the darkness, before dawn, it’s easy to wonder.

Another work day. Nothing much to say about that.

My tinnitus is crazy loud in my ears. My spine is a column of pure pain; I tell myself it’s “only” arthritis. It’s an unhelpful bit of exaggeration, but I count on it to persuade me that the pain can safely be ignored. I take my morning medications, which include prescription pain relief. It helps some, but only serves to “take the edge off”. It’s been a long time since it was any more effective than that.

I sigh to myself and grab my cane. I’ve got enough daylight now to walk this trail safely. I get started…

… I walk, lost in my own thoughts, and find that I’ve gone down and around and back to my starting point, already. It’s still early, barely daybreak. I decide to walk the loop again (it’s only about a mile and a half)…

I stop at a favorite resting point, when I reach it. My mind wants to dart ahead, to focus on work, but it is not yet time for that, and I pull myself back to this moment, here. The sky is gray, and cloudy, with the look of a sky that might rain, maybe. The air smells of rain, too. Another flash of distant lightning, another hint at rain.

Weather…or not.

The hills far to the west are hazy, looking more like a watercolor impression of hills on the horizon, and a bit unreal. This moment even feels a little unreal. Too quiet. Too still. The darkness of the trees between me and the river beyond seem vaguely spooky, although they have no secrets. It’s just a row of trees along the river bank. I walk here often.

I watch the sky continue to lighten, as daybreak becomes dawn, and an unseen sun rises somewhere beyond the clouds. The sky shifts from night black, to the deep blue of dawn, to the gray and cloudy sky I see now, and hints of pale blue behind the clouds peeking through where the clouds shred slowly as they move… north? North. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Somewhere nearby, the noise of a trash truck interrupts the stillness.

I sigh to myself as I get to my feet to finish my walk and head to work. Whether or not it actually rains, there’s still weather of some sort. Whether or not my path takes me where I expect to go, it still leads me somewhere. Having the experience is what matters most – the being and doing are the point. The journey is the destination. Isn’t that enough? I think about that as I stretch. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to begin.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Each Time For The First Time

August 24, 2025 //
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I drove to the trailhead watching the sunrise. The sky was strange violent hues of pink, red, and magenta, reminiscent of the florid edges of an infected wound. This moment of beauty is only so colorful because of the wildfires burning far to the east. As I drove I looked at the scenery along the familiar route “with new eyes”, enjoying the experience of a new moment, however small the differences between this moment and recent similar moments. Arriving at the trailhead, I again enjoy the familiar-but-also-strange scents of the summer meadow that becomes winter marshland when the rain returns. What is this fragrance? I wonder every time I catch this particular scent – which plant is that? I still don’t know. I have wondered for years and never smelled it anywhere but the dry summer meadows of Oregon.

I “took yesterday off”. It was a Saturday, but aside from the grocery shopping, done frugally with considerable care, I didn’t do any notable amount of housekeeping stuff. I made dinner in the evening, and took the day easy. I knew the household chores could wait a day, and giving myself a day of rest to bounce back from the stress of the week made sense. I have learned to put more time and attention into self-care when times are stressful, rather than allowing myself to get all spun up over shit best handled with calm, and measured thoughtful action, or failing to take care of this fragile vessel. Self-care doesn’t necessarily make stressful things less stressful, but it definitely improves my resilience. The day was pleasant, spent in the good company of my Traveling Partner.

I stepped onto the trail feeling comfortable and merry, enjoying the scents of summer and the fading sunrise. I walked with my thoughts, letting them carry me wherever they may. I found myself reflecting on my Dear Friend. It was at about this age, as I recall, that she worked her last job, teaching online for a college. One year they simply didn’t renew her contract. She was taken by surprise, hurt, and worried about the future. I sigh to myself and walk on. Maybe not yet, for me, but it’ll eventually come, and I walked with that thought awhile. How best to prepare? I kicked a random rock on the path and listened to it tumble away.

… Some asshole brought his small yapping dog to the nature preserve (there is signage everywhere that dogs are not permitted here), and I find myself annoyed, for a moment, as he passes…

Be present in this moment, now.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The phrase “each time for the first time, each moment the only moment” has been in the background of my thoughts all morning. It was there when I woke. I sit at my halfway point letting it turn over in my head. I don’t wonder where it comes from; I’ve worked a long time to embrace it and understand how finite and temporary our experiences can be. How unrepeatable. “Ichi-go ichi-e” – it has been worth the time to cultivate an understanding and build a practice. I amuse myself for a moment thinking about the thinkers who helped to lead me here over a lifetime: Henry David Thoreau, James Baldwin, Thich Nhat Hanh, Elkhart Tolle, Rick Hanson, Jon Kabat-Zinn… others. I’m grateful. Life is better lived through a lens mindful perspective, non-attachment, and sufficiency. I smile at a squirrel crossing the trail. She eyes me with some suspicion as she passes. I sit quite still and hope not to startle her.

Another hot summer day ahead. The sky is a lovely pale blue, swept by soft white clouds, streaked with shades of gray here and there. The air is pleasant and fresh, and for the moment the air is still. “From the inside” I don’t feel the weight of my years, and this morning the challenges of aging are not vexing me. Contentment can be practiced and cultivated, and it can more easily endure hard times than “happiness”, which is seldom lasting. I’m okay right now for all the many common values of “okay”. Feels good to be in this place, in this moment. A little brown bird joins me on the fence rail I am seated on. We sit together awhile before she flies off to do bird things.

The sky is still blue.

I think back to a harder time. I was mired in despair, and a friend asked me “is the sky still blue?” Useful perspective at the time, and his question reminded me that non-attachment is a practice, and that impermanence is part of the human experience.

I take a deep breath of the fragrant summer air, and get ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Despair, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

A Useful Sort of Stillness

August 17, 2025 //
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This morning I am waiting for the sun. Well, I’m at least waiting for enough light to easily see the trail. It’s a gray cloudy morning that hints at rain. I arrived at the trailhead before dawn this morning, feeling quite a lot better and eager to walk. On some other morning, the early hour wouldn’t stop me, I’d just grab my headlamp and go…

…I took my Traveling Partner’s truck this morning, and forgot to grab my headlamp…

Parked and waiting for the sun.

No headlamp, no walking (only waiting). 😆

So, I’ve got this moment of stillness and waiting, and a head full of noise (and it isn’t just my tinnitus!) – seems like a good opportunity to meditate and reflect. No pressure to perform, no time-sensitive tasks facing me, just this quiet moment before a walk on a summer morning. Useful. I approach the moment with gratitude; it can be difficult to find a moment of real stillness to pause and reflect. Time well-spent, when used thusly.

I sit with my thoughts, letting them pass through my consciousness, noted, observed, but without clinging to any one thought. I breathe, exhale, and relax, allowing myself to appreciate my own presence for some little while, simply breathing and being. I make room for life’s questions to surface in my thoughts, one by one. I allow them each to move on, some answered, some “for another time”.

I write for some little while, sharing these thoughts and practices.

The sky lightens as minutes pass. The oaks along the trail are silhouetted against the gray sky. Definitely looks like rain… but it doesn’t smell like rain, and my arthritis is not griefing me in any noteworthy way this morning. Maybe it won’t rain? I look down the trail and wonder if I will regret not grabbing my rain poncho? I shrug it off as a concern; the temperature is quite mild and even a drenching downpour would only mean a shower and a change of clothes after I return home. Inconsequential. I’d just be a bit uncomfortable as I finished the walk, and that’s not that big a deal.

I swap boots for shoes, happy that I didn’t turn back over the lack of a headlamp; there is no reason to hurry through this moment. It’s mine, and I can do with it as I please. I look out at the gray hills on the western horizon and wonder again if I have been over there, looking back at this place, ever. It’s just another thought that drifts by, and I let it.

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

I can definitely see the trail now. I stretch as I get to my feet and grab my cane. Even the most familiar path may have more to share, if I approach each new beginning with open eyes and a calm heart. It’s a new day, and it’s time to begin.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Banana Bread

March 15, 2025 //
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The work week finally ended. I got home tired and uninspired about home cooking, late in the afternoon. I wasn’t hungry, just thirsty and fatigued. My Traveling Partner had put in a full day in his shop machining parts to upgrade the lathe. He had overlooked having lunch. I made him a hearty sandwich and then put my feet up for a little while, taking the break I should have taken earlier in the day.

I never did feel like cooking a proper meal, and never had much of an appetite. I ordered pizza, instead of fussing. I did remember, at some point, that my beloved had asked me if I’d make banana bread with the last two bananas, so I did that. It turned out splendidly well. I used the Better Homes & Gardens recipe, with a bit more salt than it calls for, and being generous with the walnuts. I chuckled to myself about how often it has turned out that my Dad’s “secret family recipes” have been from that cookbook. It was definitely worth the effort. The pizza was good, too. It was a simple, quiet evening.

Simple joy.

This morning I woke from a sound sleep feeling rested, got up and started the morning. I’m sitting at the trailhead, waiting for enough daylight to see the trail on this rainy, muddy, morning and hoping for a break in the rain. The dense clouds overhead seem to tear themselves apart, a jagged gap opening to reveal the blue-gray sky of daybreak beyond. I lace up my boots.

I’m grateful for the simple joys in life. I’m grateful for these quiet morning moments of solitude and reflection. I’ve got a few days off work coming up, and I’m grateful for that too. I’m tired, and I am finding it harder these days to manage my pain; a couple days of leisure and creative time will do me good. I run my fingers through my hair, enjoying the softness of it, and watch the clouds moving away toward the horizon. No colorful sunrise this morning, but many beautiful shades of blue and gray and lovely soft shadows. I’m content with the morning as it is. It’s enough. The pain is a small detail, inconsequential compared to the beauty of the morning, just a thing to be endured.

Finding joy in a moment.

A soft rain starts and stops, again and again. That won’t stop me, either. Like the pain, it is a small detail; I grab my rain poncho from my gear tote.

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts, savoring the moment before I begin again.

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Categories breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being
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