Archives for posts with tag: vote like it matters

I woke at my usual time, my usual way. I guess I’m over being sick. I dressed and headed out, eager to walk in spite of the darkness.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I spotted the full moon overhead as I left the house. It rested on a bed of clouds like a pearl on fluffed cotton. I could still see it as I arrived at the trailhead. It ducked behind the clouds before I could get my camera out to get a picture of the “Hunter’s Moon”. It’s been rainy, I keep an eye on the clouds hoping to see the moon again, as I put on my rain poncho.

As I set off down the trail, the moon reveals herself. I turn off my headlamp and walk in the moonlight.

Is it a great picture? No. It doesn’t need to be. It’s enough to remind me, later, of this beautiful moment.

I put my phone away, and walk on. As if aware I’m watching, the moon stays out, lighting my way.

I get to my halfway point, grateful that I made it so far, comfortably, after being sick for days. I breathe, exhale, and relax, grinning happily to myself as I recall the pleasant hours in the studio yesterday afternoon – a glimpse of what retirement might feel like. I smile to myself, like I’ve figured something out. I’m not certain I have, but there’s the hint of an idea, and the feeling of having turned a corner, or having set down some baggage. Something to do with the weekend painting on the coast, something to do with painting at home on a weekend afternoon – something to do with making things work in a meaningful way in spite of less than ideal circumstances.

… Maybe I just needed more restful sleep to process things? I’ve definitely gotten that over the past week! 😆

I sit watching the moon pass behind the clouds, then peek out at me again. I fill up on inspiration as I sit watching, breathing, and waiting to begin again. It’s not yet time for that. I meditate and reflect awhile. I watch the moon shining down so very brightly. “Can I capture that luminous glow in pastels?” I wonder.

“Foggy Autumn Morning”, 5″ x 7″ pastels on pastelbord, 2026

I’ve been painting foggy mornings. Maybe I will paint moonlight, next, after I figure out fog?

“Strangers in the Fog”, 9.5″ x 12.5″ pastels on pastel card, 2026

The moon disappears from view. The dense clouds remind me why I reliably bring my headlamp along. My rain poncho is another welcome addition this morning, as raindrops begin to reach me, sprinkling my glasses with tiny droplets. I sigh as I get to my feet. Apparently, it’s time to begin, again.

Wow! I am so proud of the people of this rural county, and the surrounding communities in the area. The turn out for various local No Kings protests was amazing. This is an area that mostly voted for Trump. It’s good to see them objecting to fascism, explicitly, as well as standing proud and defiant against foreign wars. Seeing them lining the main streets of the towns of Yamhill county was an impressive and moving sight. I didn’t take pictures; I don’t want to put people at risk of retaliation.

…It gives me hope…

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

My Traveling Partner came home from his trip to the city a little early, yesterday. I was happy to have him back, though I was enjoying my solitude. I enjoy his company. The evening was a pleasant one. Pizza and a movie, delightfully wholesome.

I slept in this morning (for some values of “sleeping in”, and woke to find my beloved relaxing at the dining table. Instead of rushing off to catch the sunrise, I stayed for coffee and we lingered over conversation until the Anxious Adventurer was also up for the day, getting ready for a work shift. Eventually I left, and drove up the highway to the trailhead at the nature park nearby, grateful to have enjoyed that time at home; moments are fleeting and unrepeatable.

…”Each time for the first time, each moment the only moment.” Be here, now. Ichi-go ichi-e.” Life is for living…

I chuckled to myself as I drove up the highway. The gray dawn had already come, and there was no colorful sunrise, only a smattering of raindrops. I’m glad I took time for coffee with my Traveling Partner. Time well spent.

This moment, too, is worth living.

The Spring greens of the meadow and marsh are almost luminous as I step down the trail. The forecast suggests temperatures are too chilly for planting, but the plants that are growing wild disagree. The forecasted frost for this morning never came to pass, and the morning is mild and a bit drizzly. I expect I’ll be in the garden later. The thought makes me smile as I walk.

I sigh contentedly, at my halfway point, and take a seat on a fence rail. For a moment, fascists and corrupt billionaires and politicians aren’t on my mind at all. I’m watching the marsh creatures beginning the day, and tasting the Spring on the breeze. Occasional raindrops tickle my face, but it’s not really raining. The oaks are waking, and the trees in the distance have taken on a green haze. It’s all quite beautiful. No bombs, no craters, no rubble; it’s pretty shameful that we make so much effort to destroy the peace and beauty of Spring in other lands. We’re not the “good guys” we claim to be, as a nation.

I sigh again, this time with a certain tired resignation. “Resist,” I remind myself. It really does matter. Speak truth to power. Do not yield to corruption or cruelty. Live the values that lead you on the path to becoming the person you most want to be. Choose wisely. Persist. We become what we practice. I smile thinking how often I repeat such lessons and aphorisms to myself. Each represents some step on this path, and some moment of recognition and learning.

I get to my feet and tackle a side trail with a short distance that is a bit steep. I have to work for this, it tests my fitness a little, but it tests my janky ankle rather a lot. It’s worth it. The view isn’t great, but the feeling of getting there is. Few people come this way. It’s a quiet spot for meditation and writing. It’s an opportunity for a new perspective, and a chance to begin again.

… The clock is ticking, and I’m wondering if we still have time to change the world…