As I walk back toward my car, I spot a less icy path leading to the Legacy Trail. Just off the South end of the trail loop, a rock catches my eye as a potential spot to pause. Arriving at the rock, its pitted, cratered surface and gravel-dust color leave me uninspired.
I force myself to sit and linger anyway. Within seconds of sitting, the rock reveals a sparkle of quartz along the edges getting sun. I soften into the moment: the breeze on my skin, the warmth of the sun, the glittering rocks and snow, the rustle of grasses and leaves. Presence finally arrives. I leave with a quiet reminder: mental clutter often hides life's sparkle. Today, after a little extra time, effort, and discomfort, I was able to see more clearly and carry a spark of beauty into my evening.
As I hike, small details give me pause: tiny raccoon paw prints, very few human tracks, the glitter of fresh snow, and the ice hidden beneath. I linger before crossing onto the un-groomed trail, eyes drawn to the surface snow noticing it's textured like elephant skin.
I leave with the quiet realization that navigating snow and ice keeps me highly attentive to the ground. Even so, I am growing braver about winter walking, once again. I carry that bravery into my day.
I stop and linger at the memorial bench, hearing the boy’s grunts and a bird's chirps. As soon as I soften, subtle movement catches my eye. Bubbles swell, dance, and swirl beneath a thin layer of ice on the walking path. I leave with a song on my lips and subtle sense of hope bubbling up.
I take a seat at a picnic table, noting my coat is unzipped and my gloves aren't needed, and wonder if the birds would feel free to stay if this warmth was typical for a January day. I leave feeling calm, carrying a softer jaw and shoulders into my evening.
I linger at the top of a hill overlooking the lake, listening to the rhythmic tapping of a woodpecker on the opposite shore. I leave invigorated, carrying a sense of adventure into my day.
My body feels restless until the pines pull me into stillness. I linger under their shelter, softened, noticing how life repeats in quiet ways. I leave remembering that there is always something new to discover in the familiar. This is joy!
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AuthorKristin Perry uses close-up/macro photography to focus attention on nature’s subtle beauty and quiet mystery. ArchivesCategories |
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