My Feet Know the Way
On the first step onto the trail, my feet found their place. Each step forward they seemed to carry me of their own accord. They were joyful to be back in the woods. Ecstatic to feel the dirt of the path. I have been avoiding the trails as of late. Not even aware I was doing it until today when my husband grabbed my hand and dragged me outside. My grief has been disguising itself as valid excuses to stay inside. But today was a glorious weather day, and so there were no excuses.
The fresh air met my lungs with a celebration. Like a long-lost friend wrapping me in a refreshing embrace; a reminder of the love we have for one another. We picked up right where we left off, as all old friendships do.
My heart is pounding, as one does when it is has been sedentary for an extended period. But even the huffs and puffs reminded me I am still breathing. Grief has not stopped my heart from pumping and that is a good thing, painful as it is.
The trail is a short one. Starting small is always best when beginning again. Like dipping a toe in the water before eventually taking the plunge all the way in. Since I was last here, the trail keepers have been hard at work. Previous storm damage has been cleaned up. Some of the unruly roots and uneven ground on the downhill parts has been made into stairs. My feet are grateful. This part has always been my slow-down section, as I have taken great care not to roll an ankle or catch a toe into a free fall. Now the nice new gravel crunches underfoot and the steps are easy to see and navigate.
Once I have surveyed the changes I settle into my feet. I let them guide the rest of me. My eyes are free to take notes. The spring greens are a glorious canopy overhead. From the forest floor all the way to the top, there are too many shades of green to name. The leaves are light and dark, soft and bold. The light quivers between them and dapples the dirt around my feet. The trunks of the trees look strong…proud even, to be a part of this art instillation. Holding up the greens in a tall and strong manner. I smile as I walk under and through their raised arms. It feels like a military salute.
The birds are singing and chirping in the breeze…the glorious breeze that keeps my forehead cool on my first trip back into the wild. Rounding the corner, I hear the bird song in stereo, following me. It sounds like a choir of birds today. All have come to welcome be back.
Up an incline towards the pond I see green algae across the top. Usually there is a kind of drain, so the water moves, but the slime has grown too fast for it to keep up. The green glows florescent. It appears as thick as ice on a pond in the winter, like I could step out onto it and walk across. But I know better. My footsteps spook the frogs along the edges and they jump through the florescent into the dark green water below. This action creates a design in the algae like an abstract painting…but with an audio soundtrack. All manner of plops accompany the visual movement. Soft and loud, big and small. It is called Frog Pond Trail after all. They are center stage.
I move on around the pond to a small field full of tall grass. The phrase “amber waves of grain” runs through my head. Only the waves are grass not grain, and they are green not amber. The wind rushes through and creates a beautiful peel off of bowing heads. The dew is still heavy on the grasses. My feet are getting wet as I wade through the surf. I am careful, because it is snake season and snakes love tall grass as much as Briar Rabbit loved the briar patch.
Soon I am on around and into the trees again. I climb the small incline as if it is Mt. Everest. It feels as if it goes on forever, but it is very short. My heart is reminding me why it is important to get outside more. Still, even in my stopping to breathe and going again, the birds are cheering me on. The breeze, is creating moving art among the trees. The whole hike is like walking through a painting. My feet carried me into it because they know what I need and they know the way get it.