It was early when I got to the trailhead. The rain started, again, as I arrived. It didn’t matter, since the gate was still closed. I sat quietly through the few minutes of waiting, listening to the rain falling, meditating, waiting, drinking coffee I was grateful to have stopped for (what with the waiting and all).
The gate opens now at 05:30 a.m., and daybreak comes much sooner than it did just a few weeks ago. I move the car into the parking lot, up a hill from the couple of spaces outside the gate. It’s still raining, and I’m still waiting. I’m pretty good at waiting.
I sit with my coffee watching the dark rainy night slowly becoming a gray rainy morning, listening to the rain falling steadily, drops tapping on the car. Surely there will be sufficient break in the rain to get a good walk in? I think it over, unperturbed by either potential outcome. I find my mind wandering to my upcoming camping trip and wondering if it will rain there, then, too? I’ll go prepared for it.
My head aches ferociously this morning. My arthritis is also quite painful. Head, neck, back… so much pain. I’m glad it’s Sunday. I can put more time and energy on self-care. There’s still laundry and dishes to do… no doubt other things I am overlooking for the moment. Still, it’s a gentle relaxed morning. I’m contented and pretty merry in spite of pain.
I start the car and give the windshield a swipe with the wipers; it sounds like the rain may have stopped, and I want to “take a closer look” before I get out of the car and put my boots on. It’s just a slow spattering of random occasional raindrops now, suitable for walking…
Once my boots are on, I step onto the gravel trail with a crunch. It’s time to begin again!
I get back to the car a bit damp, after getting a mile down the trail, and turning back when the rain began falling more steadily, again. The trail along the marsh and riverbank is scented by blooming trees and wildflowers. The rain contributes petrichor and that certain specific freshness of a rainy day. No flocks of geese overhead, but the robins don’t mind the rain, and busily went about the business of finding tasty morsels in the leaf matter and muddy ground along the trail. They watch me as curiously as I watch them.
As I change my boots for sneakers, I think about the day ahead. Already another “benchmark day”, and I have been looking forward to it. Seems a good one for tidying up, too, or helping my Traveling Partner with his projects. Maybe both? I’m not rushing to return home; I know my partner is sleeping and likely had a restless night. I am making a point of giving him time to get some restful sleep before I return home and start making noise. (We’re both fairly light sleepers, prone to being a bit noise-sensitive.)
I sit quietly, contentedly listening to the rain fall, before I begin again… again.
Evening Light 