My world is pretty small these days. As I write this sitting on my front porch swing, I watch people walk by on my sidewalk. The old couple next door, holding hands, hunched over and committed to the moment. The family of three with a grey and black spotted dog. The dad finally looks up and sees me. They are talking, talking and then he acknowledges my presence. We wave across a distance.
Nobody is wearing a mask when they are outside. I know there’s a global virus still in effect and yet, I don’t see evidence of it as I sit and swing. I don’t have a mask on. Two teenagers ride by on their bikes, oblivious to anything outside their bubble.
In past years, sitting on my porch, I would hear local bands singing their hearts out at the neighborhood brewery. Sometimes they would sing so clearly that I could understand each word. That’s not the case this year. The brewery has reopened but with fewer tables. With more outdoor seating. With fewer customers. With less music.
Also in past years I would sit and be surrounded by the sound of crickets. Gone. No crickets. Have you noticed? In the middle of the night, I stand in my backyard and listen to silence. Where have they gone?
Getting on a plane isn’t going to happen to me for a long time. I’d rather drive. I’ve visited Bryce Canyon National Park in the past month and fell in love all over again. All that inviting open sky. All those intoxicating reds… coral-red, orange-red, eon-red, infinity-red, ancestor-red that changed hues as the earth’s movements inched along. Watching the sun go down in this colorful region, counting the stars as they came out against a black sky and falling into another day was one of my most special memories of that trip.0
It felt good to do something again. To be on the road. Going somewhere. I’m eager to add some ‘normal’ events back into my world and let my senses come alive again.
Finding my way to the water has been healing for me this summer. Standing on the water, swimming in a pool or coasting in a kayak have been highlights, saving graces, and meditative times for me. Meeting a friend for an early morning kayak ride in Estes Park, paddle-boarding and kayaking on the 6-mile long Horsetooth Reservoir or swimming in a neighborhood pool helps to waken my senses and fills me with gratitude for these wonderful opportunities.
I know others have turned to biking, quilting or painting. Many have started gardens, learned a language and finished a college degree. Closets, attics and basements have been emptied, cleaned and repurposed. Cookbooks have been dusted off and family recipes have resurfaced.
I’m aware that there’s no end in sight for this virus until we have leadership that mandates change. Mandates masks. Leadership that allows science to discover, medicine to heal, and politics to govern, not to enrage, cause dissent and create chaos. How have you decided to mingle with humanity again?
So, while I wait this out, I am letting water soothe me. As we suffer through an intense heat wave, I seek out my water sanctuary. My companion. My friend.
And you? Have you turned to something new to help you during these coronavirus times? Reached out and found something that helps you feel grounded? Tell me.
Stay well, stay safe and stay strong!
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Why the summer sound of crickets is growing fainter
sort of similar. Today was going to be a kayak day with my friend. We headed to Horsetooth Reservoir and during the 10 minute drive from my house to the boat ramp we were amazed at how low the water level was from 2 weeks before. After we headed down the ramp we noticed how windy it was! Like… really windy and a leisurely kayak ride would have turned into a struggle against nature. Well, I am not going to fight with Ma Nature so we went to Plan B.
Plan B was a drive to Estes Park and a walk around Lake Estes. What a great walk that turned out to be – the temperature was in the mid 70’s, blue skies, mountain views and elk resting on the golf course. The wind was refreshing and the walk was energizing. What a delightful treat to be able to hop in the car and drive 40 miles and end up in Estes Park, CO. Pretty darn amazing.
For me, November is about mixing things up. It’s about the road less traveled, discovering new trails, meeting new people, joining, moving, painting, and connecting. I am doing all of the above.
This past week, in the middle of a cool, crisp, sunny day, I ventured on a new trail. It was right there on the side of the road, so I HAD to check it out. The signage informed me the trial led up and over a ridge so I could see Horsetooth Reservoir but I never made it that far. Instead I walked for about an hour and was enjoying the breeze and the wide open skies and getting to the top of the ridge, until I was rudely interrupted by the distinct sound of a rattle. I didn’t wait to see the perturbed snake and immediately reversed course and headed back. My return walk had a bit more pep as the adrenaline kicked in and my path was mostly downhill. Once I left the scene of the rattlesnake, I didn’t feel threatened but I was more focused on what was on my path instead of the view above me.
Happily ... after retirement 