When I walk
I slow
I see the empty bird feeder
The crumpled leaves against a fence
The discarded chew toy near the dozing dog
To walk
To breathe
To feel the air on my skin and in my hair
To walk is to know
Author: Sprite
Susan River in Winter
A brisk walk along a stream provides so much to see and hear.
The water is free in some places.
In other’s is sliding slowing under the ice with a whisper of sound.
The bite, like rubbing alcohol on my skin, brushes my cheeks, but I don’t notice
I can only feel
I can see the sun, but its warmth can’t get through the mist from the water.
I am cold on the outside, but my heart is warm.
I am here. I am alive.
The Drive
The Drive
I have been on this road many times before
But each time it is new
For while I might not see the new growth on the trees, the new rabbit warren dug or the industry of birds and bugs
I do see it with a heart and eyes that are new since last I was here.
Lake Almanor
Water. The substance of Life. The water provides so much. Birds, wildlife and insects use this for life. People use this for fun as well. It’s rare to be here on a day when sail and people-powered and motor boats don’t compete for the space. The noise can be amazing. But at other times, it’s so still the buzz of bugs haunt my ears. The wind in the trees sounds like the ocean. The wind in pine sounds different than wind in birch and you need to be still and patient to hear the difference.
The click and buzz of insects as they send their coded messages across a fallen log hum against my skin. The sun warms my skin even as the breeze creates a chill. A feather from a duck, a goose, an osprey floats on the wind, chasing the dust moats in a silent game of tag.
I revel in the noisy silence. I can feel my heart slow. I want to stay, to burrow in like a mouse or nest like an eagle and live my life on the edge of the water, where life is refreshed with each lap against the shore.
They killed Kenny
“Oh No! They killed Kenny!” Really do you need anything more?
This is what I look like when I walk to work on a snowy day.
Daffodils
There is something about a morning after a rain. A renewal of the process that brings life.
The smell of damp dirt; the fresh feel in the air; the song of birds happy to be share the day.
The daffodils bloom and bring a bright spot to the landscape.
I don’t want to hurry the day, or the season, but enjoy the day and share it with all around me.