A Walk In The Woods

I went for a walk yesterday. I walked along a trail that I've walked many, many times before, though each time it's different. Yesterday I walked on snow packed down by many other travelers, melted by the sun and warm air and rain, refrozen by the return of winter. This cycle of snow and melt and freezing has been repeated for months, and now the trail is more ice than snow. Ice lumpy and bumpy with footprints, yet polished by the melts. Yesterday the smooth ice was coated with melt water. Slick and slippery, glistening in the sun. So I trod cautiously down my well-frequented trail.

In sections where the ice was not so icy, but rather softer and providing more traction, I relaxed into the wonderful afternoon sun, appreciating the lengthening days of approaching spring. I felt expansive and buoyant. I was taller than I've ever been. Perhaps even a foot taller. Anyhow, I was seeing and experiencing the world in a new way. I floated along the trail reveling in this sense of... strength? power? expansiveness.

At one point I was called down a side-trail that leads around the rock that the main trail, an old almost-rail-bed (the rail-line was never completed), is carved through. I walked on the river-side of the rock, along the side of a steep hill overlooking the river through the trees. There was a flat rock that offered me a seat. I accepted with deep gratitude. I sat looking at and through the trees, at the river running high with melt-water, at the reflections of the hill opposite me, at the sun slicing through the trees, at the ducks swimming to their nest in the downed trees and growth below me on the river. I breathed in all that there is.

When I was done sitting I continued on down to the bridge that crosses the river at the other end of the trail. I rarely go all the way across. I usually stop at the midpoint and watch the river. Some days it's all about the reflections on a glassy surface. Other days it's all about the interplay of ripples and wind and sun. Yesterday I watched the eddies that shed off the bridge pylon. I watched as some of them rolled onto their sides and surface like logs of water breaching the surface. I watched at flotsam was caught in the nearly still water in the lee of the pylon. I watched as it was slowly drawn upriver towards the bridge by the counter-currents driven by the marvelous hydrodynamics caused by the pylon. I watched until the flotsam was drawn out of it's gentle diversion, back into the main current and swept downstream.

As I journeyed back I found my trail lined by appreciative and encouraging supporters standing strong enjoying the afternoon as I was. I quietly, lovingly acknowledged the trees and reflected their appreciation. How lucky I am to have such wisdom surrounding me, to feel so a part of the wonders of nature.

Tonight it is raining. I love the sound of rain...