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
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.
A little winded, I sat on the bench overlooking first – the ad hoc grassy pitch, then the sidewalk, the road, then the hill to the east and sky. Breathing in, breathing out, I pressed my back against the green grid backrest, shifting my line of sight from left to right, from right to left. And there it was – the slightest temperature change on my face as I turned toward and away from the sun. Shifting sunlight and shadows against my cheek carries sensations I had not noticed until just this moment on this bench.
It’s a delightful reminder – light carries warmth. Denied if I’m busy, irrefutable if I am still and present.
We are back home after spending time in England. Our trip was originally planned for October of last year, to Scotland. But there was the little hitchie-do of the heart attack and so it was delayed. Then delayed some more, redirected to England, and pulled together with lightening speed to meet up with dear friends from Nigeria.
This was the third trip Les and I have shared in London. I didn’t know if it could meet or exceed our previous love affair with all things British, but it did.
Maybe you will recognize some of the sights, sensations or special moments from a trip you have taken here, or another place. Maybe you will recall the thing you found through travel to foreign places, or what foreign ideas became familiar because you traveled. Just know, from all shores, and all places, we wish you well.
Not in a million years would I have thought that I would love kayaking so much. I get it now. I’m so stinkin’ grateful to my buddies who encouraged me and the chance to be in this beautiful country. Love to all.
This sweet moment, of seeing raindrops sparkle on an aspen leaf, asked me to consider sharing a simple image. To drop the words – although, here I am collecting and stacking them up again like not-quite-used-up folded paper towels. So I decided to go ahead and share the photo that I call “The Trinity” with plenty of space to honor it’s stand-alone beauty, or if you are curious, to add just a few more words.
Continue reading Friday Love Notes from Colorado
Sometimes, a moment brings joy I could not have imagined.
Yesterday, with Les just across the table from me, and gentle breezes and soft keystrokes the only sound around us, I paused.
“Can it really get any better than this?” I thought. “This silent companioning of being lost in our own worlds of writing in this beautiful place?”
These are the good days. The good moments. Thank you.