Chilly morning, but not cold. I’m groggy again this morning and eager for the weekend. I woke early and headed to the local trail I favor. The sliver of moon on the horizon was rising, the sun not yet peeking over the edge of the world.
A sliver of moon.
I set off down the trail. There are already birds singing in the pre-dawn darkness. I listen to them as I walk and try to identify them. Seems likely it’s mostly robins. Busy morning for creatures, apparently; I am startled by a raccoon at the edge of the trail (and had myself startled a different one as I left the house, earlier). We look each other over and mutually decide not to be bothered. lol I walk on.
I breathe exhale and relax. Stopping at my halfway point, I sit for a moment with the sunrise. Peach and pale orange hues remind me to stop at the store for oranges for my Traveling Partner on my way home. Yesterday’s work day invades my thoughts, and I let that go. Somewhere distant I hear morning traffic. I’m actually not far from the highway, and when this trail winds back through the vineyard adjacent to this strip of creekside forest, the highway will be easily visible. This is not an exciting or remote trail. It is convenient and very well maintained.
I sit with my thoughts awhile longer before getting to my feet to head back to the car. There’s a new day ahead and it’s time to begin again, already.
Yesterday was delightful. All the way to the trailhead this morning, I thought about the gardening yesterday. As I walked, I continued to reflect on my garden, noticing the various wildflowers and grasses growing along the marsh trail and among the oaks on the meadow. I think about the bit of space yet to plant with… something. I keep walking.
Nice morning for it
Yesterday evening I got very excited to consider adding a potted rose to my still developing west side garden. This morning I admitted to myself that my eagerness was carrying me enthusiastically beyond my good sense; roses won’t do well in that location. Not enough hours of sunshine. I chuckle to myself when I fall back to my thought of perhaps putting a citronella geranium in that pot? Good grief, those get huge; it’s a small space. What am I thinking? So human.
For a time, I distract myself from those yearnings by contemplating the front flower bed, where I decided to fill in more area with the primroses that are doing so well. I’m eager to divide them and spread them out. I laugh at myself; it’s not yet time for that. They’re still blooming. I am so eager to proceed. Waiting on timing is hard.
It can be so difficult to approach plans and eagerness with discipline. It’s not impossible. It takes practice. Commitment. Something else productive to do is helpful, too. I smile as I walk, shaking my head at my foolishness. There’s plenty of weeding to do. Fact. There’s no shortage of work to be done. It’s just not the exciting stuff: the planning, the shopping, the planting. Not just now. The work that needs doing is weeding. The garden version of housework. Removing the wild geraniums that appear in the lawn. Digging out the occasional dandelion, too. Pulling out stray lawn grass where it tries to encroach on a flower bed. It even turns up in my raised beds. So much weeding. Manual labor of a rather unsatisfying, less than ideally fun sort. lol Still needs doing. Like the housework. There’s no actual end to it, and there’s nearly always something that needs to be done to live well and comfortably. Clutter to reduce. Tasks to be completed. Order to create out of chaos. It’s all worthy and worthwhile.
The garden as a metaphor; the work that needs doing isn’t exciting or glamorous. Still needs to be done.
… Sometimes it’s hard to want to do the actual work…
When I stop at my halfway point to write and meditate, I notice how much my legs ache. My back, too. My head is kind of stuffy; allergies. As if on cue, I sneeze several times. Oh, but the flowers do smell so good! I add Claritin and pocket tissues to my shopping list for later.
My Traveling Partner has already pinged me a loving greeting this morning. I smile, feeling his love. Yesterday he showed me how the new Hue Forge software works. Exciting! It makes me think about color differently. He did a small project from a photo I had taken, with me “along for the ride”. It was a lovely shared moment. I sit quietly reflecting on love and life together. 14 years married, on May 1st – it doesn’t seem so long, but at the same time feels as if we’ve “always been together”. It’s a nice feeling.
Sky through the trees, rendered in Hue Forge and 3D printed.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. This “being human” thing takes so much practice to do skillfully without doing a lot of unintentional damage. Like learning new software, or developing a new skill, there’s more to it than there seems to be, given an opportunity to explore the nuances more deeply. lol I reflect awhile longer, on my garden, on love, on becoming the person I most want to be. There are so many verbs involved. So many opportunities to choose, do, fail, and to begin again. I’ll keep practicing – and walking my own path. I sigh contentedly, and get to my feet. It’s already time to walk on. Time to begin again.
I’m sipping my coffee and reflecting on my journey, and things generally. My sleep was restless and filled with peculiarly realistic dreams of places, people, and circumstances that were in no way actually real in my own life. It was a bit unsettling to wake as if from an altogether different life into the life I live. It’s not the first time I’ve had such dreams, and I doubt it will be the last.
I made the drive to work watching the night sky transform at daybreak. Venus was bright above the horizon, and the sky was smudged with orange and rusty hues. I caught glimpses of Mt Hood from a couple vantage points that don’t offer a convenient place to stop, and struggled a bit to avoid being distracted by the beauty. Safety first! I have places to be, and loved ones who would like to see me again when I return. That was a pleasant thought in the moment. Something about the morning kept reminding me of “home” – not my home, now, but some long gone time and place that I can’t return to. It only exists in my memory. A spring afternoon, the buzz of insects, a screened in porch, and the hum of a fan, Easter shoes that pinched. A summer morning, the heavy scent of southern blossoms, the thick humid air, the clink of ice cubes in cold glasses, and sweat that doesn’t dry. Only memories, now – even most of the people are…gone. I sighed to myself as I drove, letting the thoughts drift through my mind like clouds. Nothing to be concerned about, just the morning of a new day, and some thoughts to get me started. It’s funny – I often “do my best writing” while I’m driving, and can’t jot down the words. lol An interesting challenge is finding them again, later. I rarely do. I find other words, other thoughts.
Strange journey, life, isn’t it? We each walk our own path. We’re each having our own experience. We persist in sharing our advice with other travelers as if they could ever truly make use of what we have learned ourselves – maybe, sometimes, in rare instances we really can learn from the experiences of others. I often wonder how true that really is. We are our own cartographers, and these “maps” we make aren’t very helpful to anyone else, generally. The moments and the journeys are uniquely our own. What do you actually get from reading these words? When I point out that we become what we practice, do you understand what I’m pointing out to you? How it applies to your own practices? The ways it could be useful to change your experience? How easily leaving dishes in the sink “now and then” becomes dishes in the sink more often? How difficult it can be to adopt a new better habit without committed practice? How easily anger becomes a character trait instead of a moment of emotion, when we yield to our anger and relish “venting” our frustration instead of steadily practicing some other approach? When I suggest practicing self-care, do you consider it and take action? When I observe that my chronic device use quickly became hard-to-resist doomscrolling and that I had to change my practices to preserve my emotional health, did you reflect on your own, and the effect it has had on you? You have a moment to make a change, to become the person you most want to be. What will you do with it?
I’m not telling you how to live – I’m just wondering what you get from my observations over time, or if it is merely an entertaining distraction?
We’re each walking our own path. Each tending our own garden. (These are metaphors.)
I’m just one human being, walking my own hard mile, facing my own trauma, and even the consequences of my own actions and choices. I’m grateful (and fortunate) to be where I am now, but there are no promises I’ll “always” have it like this – I’ve lived through far far worse. We are mortal creatures. We’re fortunate any time we can share the journey. I sip my coffee and think about love. Our choices in life only get us so far; some of it is also pure luck and the timing of circumstances. Each moment is precious – and unrepeatable. I reflect on Ichi-go ichi-e, and vita contemplativa – useful concepts. I practice non-attachment, and seek a sense of contentment and sufficiency. Along the way, I’ve found (often but not always) real actual no bullshit happiness. This surprises me, and I embrace the moments as I find them. Chasing happiness never got me there. Funny how that works.
Each moment as temporary as a flower.
My coffee is almost gone. The waning moon is faint in the cerulean blue of the morning sky. I’m okay right now – for all the values of okay – and I’m grateful. Nice moment. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about weekend gardening to come. There are strawberries to water, and arugula to plant. There are radish seedlings to thin, and a clematis vine to plant in a pot. There are new moments to live, and new thoughts to think. I smile to myself, grateful to have the chance to share words with you over my coffee, however you choose to use them. I wonder for a moment where your path may lead? Then, I get ready to begin again.
I’m sitting at the halfway point on my walk around the marsh on a Spring morning, early. The air is deliciously fragrant with Spring flowers after a gentle rain during the wee hours. The trail is damp, but not muddy. The sky is gray, but there’s a hint of sunrise on the eastern horizon. There are geese overhead calling to each other as they fly by.
An early start on a new day.
I woke feeling rested and clear-headed this morning, if a bit earlier than planned. It doesn’t matter, really. It’s a lovely morning out on the marsh. Flowers blooming everywhere, trees and shrubs mostly, other flowers will bloom later.
I notice I’m suddenly feeling “froggy” and congested. My nose is simultaneously stuffed up and beginning to run like crazy. I scramble for the travel pack of tissues I had shoved into my pocket “just in case”. The sneezing hits me next. Damn it. An allergy attack? Probably. It’s Spring, and while I am quite fortunate that I don’t have the serious problem with allergies that my mother had, nor those of any of my partners, I do have one or two. Bee stings. Cotton wood trees. And whatever the fuck is blooming right now, apparently, that wasn’t blooming yesterday! I would laugh, but I’m pretty busy trying to breathe for several minutes while I blow my nose, clear my throat, and take a Benadryl. I remind myself to start taking Claritin each morning; it’s that time of year. I remind myself to begin making a point to keep my bee sting kit close by, always, too.
Being prepared matters quite a lot. My symptoms quickly ease, and I’m comfortably enjoying the morning again. Indications of Spring are all around. I especially enjoy the green haze creeping over every branch, as tender young leaves begin to unfold. It’s a beautiful time and it hints at renewal and new beginnings. For the moment I forget about pain (and allergies), and all the housekeeping stuff on my to do list, and instead I simply enjoy the moment, and the Spring. I think about my garden, and about maybe baking some cookies later. Simple pleasures. Nice morning for it.
I’m grateful that I began the day prepared. I’m grateful that I’ve become more skilled at self-care over time. I’m grateful for the awareness that brings Spring into focus, and that allows me to recognize needs that must be addressed promptly without panic. I’m grateful for this beautiful dawn, and this lovely moment, and this chance to begin again.
Even in springtime, the clock is ticking.
I get to my feet, and brush bits of leaves and moss from my jeans, before continuing down the trail. My journey is my destination, this morning, and it is enough.
My head aches. I woke with it. I allow myself the luxury of assuming the national news coming out of Washington DC is more of the same terrifying crazy destructive billionaire greed-driven bullshit that will cost millions of good people of modest means their livelihoods, or possibly their lives. I don’t bother looking at it. I sigh quietly and look to my mental health and survival.
There are verbs involved. Seedlings to thin. Weeds to pull. Practices to practice.
I think about my garden. I’ve got plans to add another raised bed, and to put in the effort and care necessary to produce a significant amount of our food. It may ultimately be actually necessary. I’m expecting imported produce to become ridiculously costly very soon. I remind myself to consider joining a local farm co-op, too. I’m fortunate to live in an agricultural area, and there are multiple options. I’d keep a couple chickens if I had room to do so, but I don’t. I’ve kept chickens (and once a turkey), best eggs I’ve ever had. It would be worth the effort if I had the space.
I think about time spent in the kitchen, and how rewarding home baked bread and cookies and snack cakes are. Time consuming, too, and I’m often so tired that it’s hard to imagine doing even more, but it may simply be necessary.
Simple pleasures, lasting memories.
Go fewer places, spend less money, read more books, and enjoy simple pleasures; I feel fortunate that these are options that are both effective and (for me) pleasant. I sit with my thoughts about sufficiency and sustainability, and the many survival crafts I learned at home. I’ve got a new appreciation for the things my parents taught me as a kid about getting by in hard times.
Repair, re-use, recycle… getting more out of less may become something urgently necessary for a lot more people, just to get by. I sigh over my coffee – a luxury I may see myself giving up, depending on how tariffs hit coffee imports.
Quite a lot has gone into getting from “there” to “here”. 🙂
Are you worried too? Probably a good idea that we (as a nation) stop voting grifters, criminals, cheats, and unqualified nitwits into office, you know? This isn’t a partisan concern. It’s an ethical concern. It’s a matter of character, the character of our nation. People out for their own interests and focused on personal gain exist in every party. You can choose differently. That’s not really what I’m focused on this morning. I’m not telling you what to do with your vote or your voice. I’m just thinking about getting through this crap for at least the next four years, supporting my family, enjoying life with my Traveling Partner, tending a productive beautiful garden, and reading more books – especially any books that people in power think I ought not read. lol Buy books while you can (yes, it could get that bad, though I hope very much that it doesn’t).
I sip my coffee, really tasting it. I think gratefully about the next hot shower I take, and consider putting in the effort to make a batch of shower fizzies, and wonder if I put the ingredients in storage, or just tucked them into a corner somewhere? I think about baking bread this weekend, and making jam this summer. I don’t really like to work so hard, not gonna lie, but I do like to live well.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate awhile listening to the robins cheerily greeting the new day. The sun is rising. It’s time to choose a path and walk it. It’s time to begin again, and the clock is ticking.
Evening Light 