I woke to my Traveling Partner’s voice telling me the weather and air quality are safe for walking. “Ideal” he may have said. I sat up groggy, and started dressing.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I reached the trailhead sometime between daybreak and sunrise. The morning sky is pink and blue, with just a bit of haze coloring the distant hills in shades of muted blues. The temperature is mild and quite comfortable for now, but hinting at another very hot day ahead.
Sometimes “better” will have to be enough.
I remember, with some frustration, that I had meant to grab some items purchased online that didn’t work out, so I could run the return errand today. I forgot them in my rush to leave, hoping to give my beloved at least some quiet time for himself. Shit. Probably have to go back for those later. It’s a short day; I have an appointment later. I walk with my thoughts, mostly working on figuring out the timing. Can I make it work?
“Can I make it work?” Sometimes yes, sometimes no, eh? It is a question that comes up a lot in a human life.
I get to my halfway point and stop. Shorter walk, but still walking. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and settle myself into this moment, here, now. This? Right here? This moment of quiet peace, contentment, and joy? It’s enough. I sit with it awhile, savoring the scent of summer in the air (instead of smoke). I watch the sun rise and a new day begin. I think my thoughts.
… The appointment is relatively early in the afternoon, I can do the returns afterwards…
My thoughts wander on. Life. Love. Joy. Sorrow. Work. Chores. Dreams. Plans. Recollections of jokes my partner has told, and lovely things he has said to me. I breathe, exhale, and bring myself back to “now”. This is quite a nice moment without any extras. I enjoy it as it is.
I sit quietly until I can’t avoid hearing my tinnitus screeching in my ears, and my thoughts become dominated by eagerness to have coffee. I sigh to myself and get to my feet. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to begin again.
I’m already at the halfway point on my walk. It is some time between daybreak and sunrise. I’m watching the full moon sinking through the tangle of oak branches along the trail.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Streaky clouds begin to take shape as the sky lightens. I sit with my thoughts. I meditate. It is a gentle start to the day – until I start sneezing. Some meadow flower or tree pollen, dust, or spore, more than likely. I’m grateful to have shoved a travel pack of tissues in my pocket. I feel very human, and just a little grossed out by the time I’m over that. I sit contentedly watching the clouds evolve as the light changes. The sunrise is bland and not particularly interesting this morning, and I’m grateful for the new day, anyway.
Breathe, exhale, relax. Meditate. Write. Think. Repeat. It is a particularly pleasant morning.
Pleasant or not, the amount of pain I’m in this morning is ridiculous. It is very specifically osteoarthritis pain, and very specifically located at my spinal fusion and below it. This is new. Over the years more and more of the joints above my fusion (T12-L2) have become arthritic. The first year or two of pain in a given new area is the worst. After awhile it begins to blur with all the rest. I keep catching myself trying to flex or somehow move this area of my spine that does not move. It is futile and uncomfortable. I glare at the clouds thickening overhead. Rain? The pain says yes, or at least a strong maybe.
I sigh to myself and do my best to let it go. I accepted the pain a long time ago as a consequence of my actions. No regrets, I paid a high price for my survival and escape from domestic violence, and it has been worth that price and more.
I get to my feet, and rub my aching knee as I do. What the hell did I even do to that knee? I no longer recall. I sigh and stretch and look down the trail. Somewhere down the trail, around that bend, beyond this new beginning, is a whole new day. I wonder where this path will lead?
Sometimes I find a moment of peace through happenstance, sometimes I make choices that create a moment of peace. Either way, I enjoy the moment.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
This morning is a bit of both, I guess. I chose to set my alarm for an early hour, in spite of being Saturday, and in spite of an interrupted night’s sleep. I chose this particular trail, in a small state park. It is pure luck that I’ve got it all to myself this morning: no other walkers, no dogs, no talkative children, just quiet, and birdsong. It’s lovely.
A new day, a path I chose.
I start down the trail as the sun rises. The air is sweet and spicy with that particular fragrance of Oregon wildflowers that I love so much. My steps feel comfortable, my stride feels relaxed and confident. For the time being my pain is minimal, and I’ve got my cane to steady me if my energy runs out, or I stumble. It’s a good beginning on a new day, and I savor the beauty of the moment as I walk.
Wildflowers line the trail.
I walk. Breathe. Exhale. Drink in the sights and scents of this lovely summer morning. Granted, it’s easier to create and enjoy a moment of peace in a place such as this, but I’ve found similar peace in some unlikely places. The success is in the outcome, not the setup. I sigh to myself; I’m not fooling anyone. It definitely is easier to find (or create) a peaceful moment in a place like this. I smile as I walk. I’m grateful for this lovely easy peaceful joyful moment of solitude on a carefree summer Saturday morning. Moments don’t last, so I savor it while it does.
Be present; every step counts.
I peer over the edge of an odd gap between trees off the edge of the trail. Something clearly uses this as a route to somewhere… but it is treacherously steep. I don’t test my agility; I am too aware of my limitations, cautious, and reluctant to be injured in a location where I might not easily be found. Choices.
I walk on. The sun lights up the tree tops, green and gold. I get to a favorite spot with a lovely view and stop to watch the sunrise.
A nice spot to reflect on a new day.
I’m not really thinking about the day ahead just yet. I’m enjoying the moment I’m in. That’s enough. This beautiful moment is as fleeting as any other – all too brief – it makes sense to enjoy it as it is, and soak myself in this delightful feeling of peace. It will pass. I chuckle to myself. Good or bad, the moments pass. The clock is ticking on this mortal life. I don’t let the awareness fret me. I just walk on.
I get to my feet, feeling content and merry and ready for a new day, wherever my path may lead. It’s time to begin again.
(Most of this post was written during the wee hours my last night of camping last weekend.)
I’m awake. The forest is dark and quiet. In the distance, the sound of truck traffic on the state highway that runs through the state forest is audible. For the moment I am not sleepy. The forest seems very still. I sit awake awhile, unbothered by the wakefulness itself, but it does tend to force me to reflect, and there is no where to go, and no distraction handy.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I sit with my thoughts for a very long while, sorting the useful learning and interesting questions from the slop, earworms, and nonsense. Somewhere an owl calls into the night. She sounds very nearby. I am on alert when I hear something scuffling in the leaves next to the tent. Something small, busy, and I wonder whether it is trying to find a way in. I hear… something… the tent is hit by some sort of glancing blow in the darkness. I freeze, not exactly frightened, but my heart is pounding. I hear the squeak and the silence at the same time I hear something brushing against the outside of the tent, and then… the quiet returns after the sound of… wings? Some time awhile later, I hear the owl call into the night from some further distance…
I sit in the darkness for a long while, just me and my thoughts. There’s a lot to contemplate in life. It’s healthy to take real time for that, I’m glad I do. I make notes for later writing, for other conversations, and for further reflection. This time is for me. My thoughts, this moment, and the few things that cross my awareness that I’d really like to share are very much at risk of getting lost in the volume of thoughts that have accumulated and even grown stale trapped in my mental “buffer”. Making a few notes helps prevent me losing track of one idea or another from this large quantity of thoughts. 😆
After some long while, I sigh to myself and wrap this up, and put my restless mind to rest. It’s still hours before daylight. I’ll begin again then.
…
Here it is, a different now, a morning days later, and I’m looking back on those solitary moments alone in the darkness on a mild summer night with a certain fondness. I’m happy to be home, sure, but the fondness for that quiet solitude isn’t about how I feel about home nearly as much as it is about how I feel about the quiet solitude.
My morning, this morning, began vexatiously. I guess I’m already over it, but the feeling lingers like a bad taste. I look out into the peculiarly brownish, orangish dawn sky from the side of the trail. It rained during the night, but it wasn’t enough to rinse the smoke of distant fires from the sky. I sit with my thoughts, feeling cross and strange, and wondering what to do about any of it. I’ve certainly got options; the menu of life’s “strange diner” is vast.
I sigh to myself. For me, today is another day in corporate purgatory. I hope my Traveling Partner wakes feeling rested and capable.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m walking the path I choose. I can choose differently. I sit with that thought awhile. I watch the sky lighten. Soon enough, it’ll be time to begin again.
I wrote this Saturday morning, after getting some sleep and looking back on the first day of my recent camping trip.
The work day ended on Friday in a purposeful push to finish everything and remember each commitment, each loose end. I managed it, and it felt like an achievement unlocked. My attention immediately turned to finishing loading the car and saying sweet loving goodbyes…
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
… I always forget something. This time it turned out to be batteries. Well, more accurately, when I checked my gear I failed to test my headlamp or my little camp lantern. Dumb. I’m getting ahead of myself – that discovery was later.
It was not a given that I’d find a suitable camping spot. Without exaggeration, every reservable camp site within a three hour drive from where I live was reserved, for all of the dates I had available! My next step was looking for camp grounds that are exclusively first come/first served. There turn out to be several in the big state forest north and west of my home. Okay, so it’s an adventure, and I set off eagerly.
… you’re not waiting for an “and then…” twist, are you? It was a lovely drive, and almost no traffic. I arrived when I expected to. I circled one loop, then the next. I could hear my Traveling Partner’s doubtful tone when he advised me that everything would be full. I stayed hopeful. I’d try the walk-in tent sites, and hope that they aren’t half a mile into the forest, all down hill.
I stopped at the pay kiosk and took a slip, and filled out everything but the site number and started walking. At long last, and feet already hurting, I see one that isn’t occupied! I start toward it. A frantic plump woman of a mommy age rushes past me and quickly clips her receipt to the numbered post and turns to me simultaneously challenging and somewhat embarrassed. “I already saw this, I went to get a slip is all. I was already here!” I shrug and walk on, limping a bit. I was already resigned to finding a more remote site in the disbursed camping area when I walked up on an empty site from behind. For real?! I’m almost relieved but also a little wary. I check the post. Nothing. I clip my receipt there after writing the site number on it.
So relieved. I sit down at the picnic table and drink some water.
Number 9
A woman approaches me looking frustrated and waves the white slip of her receipt, telling me in broken English that she had seen this site first and only walked away to get her receipt. I drank water, and pointed to the numbered post with my receipt clipped to it. I had read the camp rules; no reservations, first come first served, someone must be occupying the site to claim it, or their gear must be present, no holding a vacant site for someone else. I felt her frustration, I had felt it myself moments ago. I definitely prefer being able to reserve a spot.
The painfully slow process of getting my gear to the site on one foot with plantar fasciitis and the knee on the other leg being quite obnoxiously unpredictable, began with real determination. It was slow going, and before I’d made two trips I was already tired and really feeling the limitations pain places on my abilities. This is one of the exceedingly rare circumstances when I truly regret my lost youth. I definitely could have done more, better. We don’t know what we don’t know. That 27 year old powerhouse physique would come in handy right now. Hell, roll the clock back to 55, this wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Today? I find myself wondering if this may be my last solo camping trip altogether…
… Beginnings imply endings, and we are mortal creatures…
Getting my basic gear to the site took three trips. Then two more because I forgot stuff I’d definitely want tonight or first thing in the morning. Another back and forth for coffee beans, and my portable grinder. It was after all that, that I discovered neither my headlamp nor my camp light would light up. In one case, the batteries were exhausted. The other had no batteries at all. I made the trek to the parking lot again, and a trip a mile down the road to Lee’s Camp Store. I’m glad I did. My beloved sent me his love and told me he misses me, and it finally reached me. (No WiFi or connectivity in the forest.) A nice way to end the day.
Lee’s Camp Store – worth a stop anyway, and peculiarly magical.
Oh, it wasn’t actually late, I was just fucking exhausted. 😆 I knew I’d get a fresh start in the morning. For the rest of that Friday evening, I focused on getting off my feet and getting some rest. Beginnings could wait.
Evening Light 