It’s another gray day here after a wonderfully sunny afternoon yesterday. I complain about the gray days a lot, I know, but they do get me down if I let them.
That’s kind of key–if I let them. You remember the other day when I was whining about it being so gloomy, and it was. But I got out for a walk–more or less forced myself to go, because I really just wanted to hibernate, but I knew the activity would do me good. And it did.
I went to one of my favorite parks, one that has two of the elements that sooth me: woods and water. This particular park is woefully underused but I wasn’t going to gripe about it. It was really nice to have it to myself.
There was sleet coming down and a very chilly wind as I headed down the gravel path toward the woods. All the more reason to walk quickly and gain the woods, where even in the dead of winter, the trees provide shelter.
The sleet continued falling, pure and white and sounding like the gentlest of rainfalls. I made my way along, down the hill and into the sheltering bowl at the bottom of it, mine the only footprints along the path. The wind died as I reached the bottom and though it was still cold, warmth was spreading through me from the brisk walk. The farther along the path I went, the more I heard the small sounds of the woods all around me. Squirrels rustled and chattered overhead. Woodpeckers flew from tree to tree, juncos and black-capped chickadees sang, going about their business undisturbed by the weather. Just ahead, an owl took flight, silent, strong, assured. Life in the middle of winter.
I cleared off a bench and sat, eating my afternoon apple, the sleet still falling, and it was kind of–wonderful. Peaceful. Life in the middle of winter.