A Long Walk Makes Everything Better. Mostly.

After a very unrestful Sunday, I arrived at work Monday to discover that my monitor had gone kablooey (technical term), and the day pretty much went downhill from there.  And then this morning, I had to be at work at six.  Yes, I got some breaks during the day, and I got to leave early, kinda, but still...  And so I was crabby today.  And I took some of that crabbiness out on one of our own.  For that, I apologize.

However, we had a little sunshine today, and I got home early enough to take full advantage of it.  I grabbed Cisco's leash, waited a moment for him to come back to earth so I could put it on him, and set out.


It's approaching what I consider the most beautiful time of year here in Washington.  We're still a few days or weeks short--spring seems to have arrived late this year.  The deciduous trees are leafing out, but the leaves are still small.  The trees have an oddly unfinished look, like an incomplete painting: the shape and some under strokes are there, but the vital details have yet to arrive.

Spring is apparent in all sorts of different wildflowers, and other interesting plants.




But there are still signs of the winter we have just departed.  Ferns are still brown around the edges, lacking the green of new growth.


And though later in the year, the sides of the path will be overgrown, right now there are still things left exposed.  Bits of bare branches show, winter-bleached to the color of old bone.


And here and there, in the form of segments of rusted iron rails and wooden railroad ties, I come across signs of the trail's original purpose.


In a few weeks, the grass and weeds and brambles will have taken over again, but for the moment, the trail thinks back, and remembers.

And me?  Feeling more relaxed and less crabby...though less so than I'd be if the trash guys would actually take *all* my trash like I pay 'em to do, instead of only *half* emptying the can.  *sigh*  It's always sumpin.

Another Saturday Walk

Another gloomy week...and then, wonderfully, the sun came out in force today!  It was a truly beautiful sunny day, temperatures in the 50s, not much wind.  Felt like spring.  So I again took the dog out for a long walk.  It was a little too bright on the way out, as the sun was right in our eyes...but it sure felt good all the same!  I again didn't think to bring my camera (next time!!), and again couldn't resist grabbing the phone to take a few shots, such as they are.

Sunlight filtering through leafless trees--beautiful!


I'm both intrigued and a little frightened by this hill.  It is so cool looking!

See all the ferns?  On the other hand, it's so steep, it seems like a landslide just waiting to happen, and it seems at least once a year, one of those trees tumbles down across the path.  There are chainsawed remains scattered here and there along the borders of the trail.  I don't walk here on windy days.  Call me a coward!  But it's a very pretty little section otherwise.  In the spring, there will be flowers all along the base, and lots of new little green plants.

Farther down the hill, a small river flows by.  It's not quite in flood stage--it remains within its banks--but this is about as high as I've seen it.  Normally there is a border of rocky ground on each bank, and you can scramble down from the path and stand there.  Today, there was no such thing, and the water was flowing so quickly I stayed where I was.  Pretty, though.


The moss seems quite happy with all the damp!


I tried to take Cisco's picture, but he long ago decided cameras are scary, scary things.  He turns into a very sad excuse for a dog whenever I brandish one in his direction...hangs his head and sighs and won't sit up.  I think he musta gotten one too many flashes in the face as a puppy, because for the most part, he's been that way since I got him.  (He came from the pound when he was about a year old, so we both of us have phobias and neuroses the other just...doesn't...get.)  Since the phone is only rarely used as a camera, and since I had the shutter noise off, I thought I might be able to actually snap a photo.

Nope.


Nope!


Not gonna sit still while you wave that thing at me...


Oops!  Caught....

Light and Life

It is the darkness of midwinter that gets to me, far more than the cold.  This darkness is even more of a factor here in Western Washington, where not only are the days shorter than they were back in Vermont, but we also have long stretches of cold, rainy greyness: day after chilly, dreary day, with no real light.  It is hard not to feel crushed by it; or at least, it's hard to feel motivated to do much beyond curling up on the couch with a stack of books and drinking endless cups of hot tea.

The equinox is past, though at times it is hard to see it.  It is still darkish when I head off for work, darker still when I arrive home afterward.

Saturday, there is a break in the weather.  It is cold, but clear.  And for once, I have no errands or chores that must be completed during daylight hours.  The walking trail beckons.  How long has it been since I last took a long walk?  A month?  More?  With the holidays, the wet weather, the dark, I've practically gone into hibernation.

My dog Cisco must feel the constriction even more than I do.  True, he has a big yard to run in, and I try to get out and play with him a bit when I can, even in semi-darkness.  He has other dogs to frisk with, if only through and along the fence.  But these things are hardly a substitute for a long walk on the trail, with new scents all along the way, the thrill of meeting others, countless doggie readerboards.  When I take his leash from the peg by the door, he goes ballistic: circling, bouncing, dancing; whining with eagerness.  I clip on his leash, tuck a small notepad and a stubby pencil in my back pocket, and head out the door.

The world along the trail has melted into itself since we last ventured out.  Leaves that lay in fluffy, colored piles a few months back have all but disappeared into the ground.  Miniature creeks sweep along through stream beds that will dry out by summer.  I stop a moment to watch and listen.  Cisco looks up at me, his face spread in a grin, his white-tufted tail held high like a banner.  He is nearly vibrating with joy.



Around one bend in the trail, I come across pale-bellied leaves that look for all the world like feathers.  For the fraction of a moment, I think they *are* feathers, and my heart beats wildly as I glance around for the scene of slaughter that must be nearby.  Then I realize their true identity and relax.  I bend to look at them, struck by how beautiful they are.  They are a symbol not of death, but of renewal; of letting go so that the new may be embraced: a fitting reflection here at the beginning of the new year.  I want to capture the scene, but my camera is back at the house; I only have my phone, and I'm not used to the camera yet.  The picture is imperfect, but enough to remind me.  I take a few more shots along the way back: memories of one bright day.

Sunday morning on the Chehalis Western Trail

A beautiful day, a pretty trail, and a faithful companion. He's a good dog, he is.