I was walking in a country park today. I followed an "unofficial" trail up to the top of a hill. I love this time of year when the trees are bare - the true soul of the land is exposed. I could see the rolling hills, the shrubbed "fences" of the countryside, the townhomes (I was still in the city, really), the boggy dampness of the ground.
I could hear the wind coming. Something that I treasure when hiking. You can hear it working up the canyons or hills, making all strong like and finally reaching you, unseen, but ever so tactile. I recalled hiking with my daughter and especially my week in the desert with my husband's cousin. The day looked dreary and cold, but was actually quite warm. The wind was a tickly one and didn't have a bite.
An oak leaf broke off a tree and tumbled willy nilly in the air and across the landscape. I recalled staying at the convent in Federal Way in the fall and walking in their gardens. The only sounds I could hear were the tide swishing on its way to low tide and the fall leaves actually breaking away from their limbs to spiral down in front of me.
I always try to take in the views, the scents and the feeling of the land when I'm out walking in a precious place like this. I'm grateful for the opportunity to be mucking around in Wellies (delightfully pretty ones at that), in England.
On my way back to reality I found a man crouched on a little bridge. He looked a little guilty and I hoped I'd selected a safe way to return. I had. His cat had caught a frog and he was releasing it, hoping it would overcome the shock and survive.
Life! Live it!
1 comment:
That sounds like something Dad would have done. I remember him taking a mouse away from the cat and letting it go, hoping it would be okay. :)
Post a Comment