Winter Walking

In this new year, I have found myself walking devotedly throughout the trails at Spring Bird. I try to set foot upon every inch of human trail and sometimes an accessible deer path each time I set out. I walk as quickly as I can while doing my best to avoid roots, divots, or rocks. Still they occasionally send a jolt of imbalance throughout my back as I rocket forward before I find my footing again. Sweat drips down my back even though the cold air stings my eyes and lungs.  

It feels good to move quickly. It feels good to be among the trees – in the sun – to follow tracks and to have my tracks followed by coyotes later that night. Mostly, it feels good to plant as I walk. With each thudding, thick plod onto frozen ground, I drop intentions upon the hallowed earth. They fall from my thick mittens like drips from a melting icicle. 

I think about all whom I love and wish them well. I think about what green things will be growing soon, and which of them will need my intention. I remember the oaks wanting to be freed from the honeysuckle, and the benches I want to build for the firepit. I glimpse the owl flying past the barn, the white tail of deer waving goodbye, and so much animal scat of all shapes just hovering on the hardened surface unable to decompose. I wonder about the little stick hut in the front meadow that needs to be rewoven, and I dream about how my friend Olivia might help me with that project. I walk in circles, retreading my own steps until I have walked enough for that day, and I feel full.