I went for a walk one evening.

I didn’t really want to go for a walk – I was outside all afternoon at Silver Mountain watching my niece & nephews rock climb – but I usually feel good after I walk, even if I feel tired before I go, so I went anyway.

It wasn’t quite sunset when I finished walking around the block, so I decided to walk around the tiny lake too.

The tiny lake has a name, but I live near Lake Superior so I call Lake Superior my great lake and I call Calumet Lake my tiny lake. I say tiny with affection so I hope it doesn’t mind.

I saw birds flying south above me, black against the cloudy grey sky.

Delight.

The trees were full of bright red leaves, so bright that they stood out in the fading light.

Delight.

An almost full moon was low in the sky across the lake, just above the trees.

My cycle must be aligned with the full moon because every time I bleed, there is at least one night when I look out the bathroom window and say, “Oh! The moon is full!”

I love the idea of the moon tugging gently at my body, just as it tugs at the oceans to cause the tides.

Delight.

A memory popped into my head: We were walking down the trail to the car after rock climbing when one of my nephews slipped his hand into mine.

My heart felt so full – both in that moment and as I remembered it – and I let the sweetness spill up from my heart and out my eyes.

It reminded me of something I read that said to sit shoulder to shoulder with men and be their friend if you want them to share things with you. I wondered if that’s what I am doing with my nephews.

Delight.

As I walked along the street toward home, I saw a solitary blue wildflower almost hidden between the yellows and greens on the side of the road.

Delight.

I looked to the west where the sky turned from grey to lavender to yellow to orange. The trees were black beneath the grey lavender yellow orange striped sky.

Delight.

Delight.

Delight.

I’m doing a thing! (The thing being a spring nature walk in Calumet.)

Do come join me!

the sky was thick with clouds this morning so, instead of a rising sun, i saw a band of pale yellow at the horizon.

still, i was surrounded by beauty. a deer watched me quietly from the snowmobile trail before darting off into the woods, white tail held high; miniature waves lapped quietly at the shore; the sky & the lake were dressed in steely grey-blues; and the world was so still that it felt like nature was holding its breath in anticipation of the sun.

in about a week’s time, we received a winter’s worth of snow. along with it, an entrance to narnia.

needless to say, my snowshoes and i are delighted.

one of the nicest things about blogging is the friends you make along the way. because of that, i thought i’d share a photo of me in my natural habitat.

just so you know that i am alive + well + happy, even if i am here much less than usual these days.

i appreciate you, you know. there are so many places to spend your precious time; i am honored that you spend part of it here, with me.

you are one of my many blessings. may you be blessed.

in august, i went on an overnight waterfall adventure to celebrate my life with atlas.

it turned out to be the perfect sort of adventure.

at one point, i got part-way down the trail to a waterfall only to find step after step after step. atlas was not a fan of steps, especially in his later years.

and atlas was right there with me. i could feel him! i could feel his presence.

then, i could see him. he was laughing. i heard him say, “you wouldn’t have gotten me down those steps!”

that’s why the adventure was perfect. it was typical: spontaneous & unplanned & not well thought out at all.

atlas would go along happily – he was game for almost anything – until he decided he was done, and then nothing i could do would convince him otherwise.

when i reached black river harbor, i had to walk across a suspension bridge to get to lake superior. it was a hot evening and i had hiked to a few waterfalls already and i really wanted to jump in the lake.

as i walked across the bridge, there was atlas again. he laughed & said, “you know if i were there, you wouldn’t get to the lake!”

because oh, did atlas dislike bridges. he liked to feel the solid ground under his feet. if i absolutely made him go on a bridge, even a floating bridge, he would lie down and belly crawl until i finally took pity on him.

again, so typical.

as i jumped in the lake that evening, i had a huge smile on my face and my heart was full of joy.

joy from the swim in my beloved lake.

joy from the memories of my beloved pup.

but even as i celebrated my life with atlas, there was a moment on the trail during which i realized that there was another reason i took myself on an adventure.

my grampa died in december. atlas died in june. my grama was dying (she died two days later, the morning after i got back). most of my time for the past three years had been spent with the three of them. now, they were all gone or going.

in that moment on the trail, i realized that i had spent so much time sitting with death, watching death come closer & closer, that this was my way of reminding myself that i was still very much alive.

it brings me joy to imagine that all of the natural treasures i find now are gifts from (angel) atlas. often, they are blue jay feathers – my favorite.

today’s gifts, received while on a trail run:

• tiny mushrooms that were the size & shape of wild pansies but poppy red (with a black splotch) in color.
• a buttercup yellow moth.
• a mushroom that looked like it had been caramelized and then covered in rainbow sprinkles. (i did not take a bite, but oh, how i wanted to.)
• a crooked tree on the aptly named applesauce trail that was full of tiny sweet wild apples. as i tossed my apple cores on the side of the trail, i pretended i was johnny appleseed.

i find a shady spot in the woods and sit down, back resting against a sturdy evergreen. everywhere i look, from ground to sky, all i see at first is green.

a garter snake slithers past. i admire the color & striping & size and decide it must be a close cousin to the garden hose. then i wonder if it did, in fact, provide design inspiration.

a single yellow leaf provides a splash of color on an otherwise green tree, and the earthy scent of fall fills my nostrils.

a monarch butterfly lands on a fern. it rests there for a while, orange wings glistening in the sunlight.

as i look though the pines, i see a sliver of white birch in the distance, trunk curved gracefully like a bow. like orion’s bow, i think. does he ever grow tired of holding it at the ready?

a jet-black dragonfly floats by on a current of air and a large black ant scurries across the forest floor. the ant pauses for a moment in front of me in order to rub its bald black head with two front legs. (at least that’s how it appears from my perspective.)

twenty yards away, there is a break in the trees. in the space between, i see blue sky & blue water.

all of a sudden, i see a flash of white wing against the blue. it’s a bald eagle! the eagle glides west, as straight & true as an arrow, and then flaps its wings and heads up toward the tree tops.

slowly, quietly, the birds begin to chirp: “here i am, here i am, here i am.”

i close my eyes and listen to the shiver of the wind through the pines. from deep inside, the tears begin to well.

“thank you,” i whisper to the woods, and i feel a wave of love + welcome rush toward me.

it was 2am in the morning and i was outside with the pup. my friend orion had gone south for the summer; in his absence, i stood & marveled at the milky way.

days of rain had finally lifted. the now cloudless sky was the color of india ink and the stars were crisp + plentiful.

all of a sudden, i noticed the silence.

i live next to a swamp, so there is a constant din of crickets from dusk till dawn. that night, the crickets were silent.

all of a sudden, the silence was filled with a wordless melody. it was everywhere – above & around & within me.

as i listened closely, i realized that it was the stars, vibrating a song of joy + praise + thanksgiving.

i haven’t heard the grass speak – yet. but, i have heard the stars sing.

over two years ago, my friend relyn told me this. ever since, i’ve been watching, waiting, listening.

but until now, i’d been listening with my ears, when i should have been listening with my heart.