Path Ology

Good Evenin',

Well, aside from a few aches and pains, one peaceful day. It's quiet by any standard out here, but holidays, by and large, it gets real quiet; thick quiet. And somethin' inside me just soaks it up. I remember a quote, someone posted the other day, Morgan Freeman, something about learning stillness to where it becomes a radiant part a yourself. Sure made some kinda sense, even if I'm not sure why, but, seems like I've met folks like that.

Anyway, always got my ear to the ground and today I contacted 33%a my readers, and they all wanted me to talk more about "paths" and what they are sayin'; by the way, that'd be Chris, my childhood foster brother, from the northwoods, called ta wish him a happy bird day.

So, I thought about it as I walked around today, movin horses, feedin' and gatherin' firewood. And, truthfully, I suppose, I had avoided the question, even as I hinted of their wonder, knowin' it was one large topic and it'd take some kinda artist do 'em any justice. That said, I could try, pass on a few things that occurred to me.

For starters, they speak of creatures, me, the horses, the dogs and the wild things that come and go; deer, elk, coyotes, rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks, snakes, porcupine, badger and fox, probably a bear and lion, now and then. They speak of the seasons and changing pastures. They speak of relationships; me lookin' for horses, horses lookin' for me, the dogs that follow and make their own, under the low branches. The earth and trees, the roll of the ground, lurin' me this way, discouragin' me that. They speak of needs, like water and feed. They speak of choices, like footing and light, depending on temperature, time a day, season and air flow. They speak of safety, like the ones we borrow from the deer and elk, that wind through the trees along the ridges. They speak of change, like trees that fall and gates that close, maybe predators shiftin' territory or makin' room for offspring. Sometimes they speak of views and fun, when a particular drop is so appealing, me, the horses or deer, just couldn't resist the call of gravity and the thrill of the fling, out on to the flat. They talk of sweet spots and cool spots, different flavored grasses, warm spots in winter. They speak of feet and wanderin', times together, times apart, like planets that orbit, near and far, maintainin' some kinda fluid attraction. They tell time in a sense, like who passed when, before or since. They tell stories of events and surprise, mosie and graze. But, maybe best, and I don't know how, they sing the song of life and thanks; to have feet and earth and plants to walk among. To have each other to look for, and hide from. To have habits and preferences and seasons and different ways of gettin' to the same place. Weather, soil and circumstance that change and inspire new paths. To leave marks, so others can know we passed and glean why and where we were headed, maybe make it just a little easier for them to go, too, should they be inclined.

Have a nice night

Best,