I set out with intentions to just walk. To be present. To look. To meet the hills where they are, as they are – asking nothing in return other than having the privilege of one last walk.
It rained last night, leaving a few welcome puddles along the curb and small dusty pools of water on the hood of the car that will take us home tomorrow. The residual cloud cover seemed fitting to my mood.
Continue reading Last Walk
Yes, that is a lost, faded froggie pencil-topper on the side of the road. At first I thought it may have been a crushed robin egg, but of course not. It is autumn. At first, I walked on past it, but curiosity made me retrace my steps, lean down, take a closer look, and if I hadn’t – I would have missed it.
Continue reading I Almost Missed It
We’ve been here long enough to watch things change, as they do – cattails burst giving up of themselves, seedlings for next spring; the littlest of fawns growing up a bit, their soft white spots fading into tawny shades of brown; and orange cones removed, revealing fresh asphalted streets made ready for winter.
I am humbled by this chance to be in one place of beauty for more than a day. I am inspired and reminded to not get stuck or too in love with the ways things were when we arrived, and consider the present state – of the cattails, the fawns, the asphalt – as one shape of the process not the beginning or ending or whole of itself. Like me.
I’ve been here long enough to watch things change in me, and practice releasing what I cling to as unmovable suffering or ultimate sublime.