I wrote this August of 2020, but just getting around to sharing! I'll try to do that more.
I pack myself some water, lace up my good shoes, and head out onto the trail. So much of my day is noticing all that is different, all that has changed, all that is lost since March of 2020. I’m mad, disappointed, numb in rotating intervals. My faith in humanity shaken. The only break from that is when I encourage the miles to pass beneath my feet.
When I walk, everything slows.
One mile.
The rain started to fall. It wasn’t heavy, but it was consistent, so I found myself hesitating – should I go back? Not for long though before the urge to walk overcame me and on I went. The rain danced little patterns on my skin, feeling so refreshingly cool, and drawing designs on the path in front of me. It was empty as far as I could see, no one else choosing to brave the storm. The more dirt that fell away under my feet, the worries more I felt wash away as well.
Two miles.
Out in nature there is no illusion of control. You do what you can, but nature is wild and denies your attempts to keep it in check. So, you learn to let go. I’m not always so great at that in the rest of life. I hold on to the illusion that I can keep my pre-teen daughter safely under my wing forever; that I can stop the slow of time in our old black Lab. I want to control my employers who shut down, or made cuts, and stop people from acting without regard to the pandemic at hand. None of this is actually in my control, but I still cling to it. Until I get on that path.
Three miles.
I lean my head back and taste the rain on my tongue. My shoulders have loosened, my hands release. Sometimes I take in the flowers and shrubs around me, waiting eagerly to arrive at my favorite copse of trees. Sometimes I listen to a podcast, sometimes I just let my mind wander as the steps fall away. On this day, I walk in silence. I listening to the padding of my feet and the rain, watching the clouds move across the sky, feeling the cool breeze. My mind wanders to the weeks ahead, making plans, and actually feeling excited.
Four miles.
The rain stops, the air is so fresh. Blue skies start to peek out, and while the storm passes, the path stays clear. It is mine alone today. For the rest of the walk I let my mind be still and clear. Storms often come to clear the air, and I’m reminded today that they always pass.
Five miles.
I can see my house approaching, my warm shower waiting. As I step inside, I smell dinner cooking, and am greeted with a wagging tail and curious nose. I hear my daughter yell from the living room, wanting to tell me about her latest toy creation, and my husband drops a kiss on my head on his way past. I take a deep full breath, and thank the storm.
