Finally, the sun has come out. Endless days have passed since we weren’t blanketed by dull dark clouds. I pull on the hat with the fuzzy ear-flaps and then the rugged boots, making a double bow so they won’t come untied. The jacket: zipper, snaps. (Sigh.) The gloves.
It’s worth the effort. I am cozy in the cold air and excited to be drinking in its colors. I have to walk along the berm of the 2-lane truck route that divides my property until I get to the right of way. I squeeze past the gate and neighbor Bob’s big antique tractor that guard the land, his and mine, against unwanted intruders. And then I am in the field, at the valley’s floor, and it is magical here. I am impressed by the fine job Bob did mowing, given the antique status both of his tractor and his body.
The thing I like about these walks—I call them photo-walks because I always have my camera with me and it is eager to capture the wonders of the day—the thing I like about them is that I have to stay in the present and pay attention, to be RIGHT HERE. Because anything could happen or unexpectedly appear. The world, after all, is a magical place. And you wouldn’t want to miss a good one now, would you?
So I get to breathe in the early winter fragrance of the air, to taste it. I hear the branches tapping in the light wind, the dry stalks crunching beneath my feet I’m heading toward the beaver pond. I haven’t seen it for months. The earth is getting muddy now.
Dreams float past as I walk. They’re like transparent clouds. Memories. Checking in on friends, But always alert as my eyes note the textures and colors of the land beneath my feet: Stop! Look!
Oh, my God. I feel so lucky.
Thank you!
I love you!
Thank you.