Walkabout

My brother (the one who can't stand to sit inside when there's a perfectly good outdoors waiting to be used) has been here for the past two weeks. We've been going walkabout.

I see so much more when I walk than when I'm in the car - tiny buds of pussy willows threaten to burst out despite the fact winter has barely begun. Moles and geese share the fields, one below ground and one above. Chickadees and juncos chirp out empty threats from the safe shelter of their bushes. White and green and blue and yellow and red Christmas lights illuminate trees and houses and woven creatures that I think are supposed to be deer. Frosty fog hangs in the air as long as it can before it falls to the ground as a gauzy white blanket.

He's gone home now, so I'll have to walk on my own if I'm going to walk. Wanna go with me? We'll see all sorts of things we've been missing.

Cedar and Seder

As each week flows into the next, it's easy to forget the small milestones that mark the passing of time. Here are a couple from last week.

The first hike of the season... really just an excuse to get out and breathe fresh air. We chose to spend an afternoon with friends at the Cedar Plank Longhouse in Ridgefield, WA. If you squint, you can spot a couple of natives measuring the doorway.

The following Saturday, I dusted off the Seder plate and enjoyed an evening of good food and fun with family and friends. I think we lose so much of the rhythm of life when we ignore feast days. A once a year reminder about salvation, safety, and new life is always a good idea.

Walking in the Dark

Many times, at many phases of my life, I've walked in the dark.

My earliest memories of the dark are of standing outside the ferry terminal, stomping my feet to keep warm and waiting for guests to arrive in the middle of the night. Times when the northern lights were visible were always worth a trip outside, especially when the dancing green and purple sky curtains reflected off our snow-covered yard. Trick or Treating meant a dark time stroll through the neighborhood.

When I was older, I walked to school in the dark. But not pitch dark since a string of orange-yellow streetlights hummed out their droning tune.

I used to meet a friend, Tina, to walk in the dark around Harding park in later years. Then again, we always had bluish street light filtering through the trees.

In Africa, a night time walk could remind me of how different I was from those around me. Darkness should have blacked out the difference between black and white. But with my glow-in-the dark skin, I had a distinct disadvantage.

Even though I've taken all these night time walks, I've never walked in complete darkness, all alone, with no person, house or vehicle in sight.

Just me and the dark and a back country road.

Never, until last night.

(to be continued)