Sunday Newscape Magazine

"The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend." - Henri Bergson

Today I pried my butt up out of my computer chair and took it to the Centennial Trail I've told you of before. The one that runs alongside the beautiful Spokane River. Someday I'll have to walk more of the 30+ miles of this paved pedestrian scenic route than the two miles I visit religiously.

Today was a distinctly Fall day. It stormed most of yesterday and heaps natural debris was spread liberally over the meandering trail. Pine needles, cones, small branches, and more feathers than I've seen for a while. Fluffy white ones, like the ones you'd image nestled under more rugged flying feathers. Must have been a tough storm for the birds.

I took scrumptious delight in hearing the crackling of dried leaves underfoot. I even scuffled. Remember how much fun it was as a kid to pile the leaves waist-high and jump right in? Remember the smell? Earthy, rich, magnetic. Gold and orange all around.

Nature is the only place I've been able to master the art of non-thought. But, it still always surprises me when I realize that I've not thought, critiqued, or judged anything in several minutes. I'm just watching, smelling, feeling - and breathing. What a joy!

On the return trip I was reminded of a quote I believe I actually authored a few years back. But, memory can trick, so I hope I don't usurp someone else's brainchild. After all, an original thought is a pretty rare beast - even in the wilds of Spokane! "You never truly know a path until you've walked it in both directions."

This came to mind when, on the return leg of my walk, as I faced the westward setting sun. A bush I'd seen half an hour before had suddenly transformed. Before, it clearly contrasted the surrounding green, yet I remember thinking that it's almost-brilliant red leaves were pathetically dull and lackluster. I even felt some pity. But, this - this was magnificent. Each leaf of the bush was a blaze of dazzling fire. Red and raucous!  It then struck me how deviously conniving light can be. When facing the light, the foliage was nice, but not beautiful, But, when lit from behind by the sun, this unassuming bush glowed like hot lava. Breathtaking.

That was the end of my thought-less trekking. My bored-stiff mind nosed its way to the front and led me on a journey of metaphoric lessons for the remainder of my walk. I noticed the perfectly round rock I had picked up some time back, as a souvenir of the day's occasion. It was toasty warm. "Even a rock will warm if you hold it."

The roar from the river below grew deafening as I rounded a bend. Glancing down, I saw an obstacle course of rapids. Splashing and weaving 'round rock, the river yelled its objections loudly. Only moments before it had run silent and still. "In the course of any life, peace and pandemonium will have their day."

As I usually do, on the return trip, I left the paved pathway and headed into the forest. The trails at the end of summer are sometimes tricky to navigate. What begins as a clearly defined passage can dead-end in a thicket of brambles and fledgling trees - as I was now facing. I stumbled and scraped for a while not at all sure I was still on the trail. But, I'm stubborn and was sure that the trail would pick back up again. Soon it became clear that my exposed skin was in jeopardy of reliving this expedition for the coming week. I reluctantly turned back and surrendered to the power of nature. "All trails end; sometimes sooner than we want - sometimes later."

For fun, I always try to walk like a squirrel on the needle-packed trail...silently. Maybe it's our primordial instincts to be stealthy. To pass without notice. It gives me more joy than it probably should to blend into nature and not disturb the peace. Occasionally I can sneak up on an unsuspecting bird or chipmunk. Not that I see him before he sees me. In the moment, we are both surprised and freeze. Then he scurries off and I prowl on. "If you are very quiet you will see what most can never even imagine."

Back on the well-trod pavement I found a perfect little feather lying at the trail's edge. Black with a white tip. Didn't remember seeing the donor on my walk. I'm a feather fan, as opposed to a feathered fan! So, I claimed my finders-keepers rights and scooped it up. I held it gingerly by the quill to protect the pristine uniformity of its proximal barbules. Didn't know that's what the feathery part of a feather was called, did you? Me neither, but Ask.com never fails me.

Holding this feather gently in my hand, I was struck by how fiercely it grabbed at the air as my armed moved forward and back in my natural walking motion. For such a small feather, it twisted and turned in my grip like a sail in a floundering wind. I have no idea if the Wright brothers were my ancestors, but I envisioned them holding this feather - aching to be aloft - and wondering if they could harness the power of that desire. "Whether whole or broken, we will ceaselessly strive to fulfill our purpose."

I went to the trail to Be. And in that being, I was educated. It seemed like a perfect day to me.

(c) Karen Wright all rights reserved - http://wrightminded.com