Go to the gym, put up the Christmas lights, make bread for communion (okay, Ruth does that), rake the last bags of leaves, etc, etc. Welcome to Saturday. I don't need to tell you about the tasks of this day.
We decided that the gym would be forgotten today and replaced with a walk at Second Marsh. The week past was cold, windy, and wet and we are promised a dump of snow in the next couple of days, so we seized the moment.
We were surprised to discover a marsh virtually frozen over, although the waves of Lake Ontario were rolling into shore. In the small leads of open water there were still ducks and geese, a furtive muskrat, and at least four blue herons. One of them was huddled close to shore, on a pile of dogwood branches gathered by beavers as winter feed.
It was good to be out and walking in the natural world, even though the sunshine that lured us to the marsh had given way to gray skies by the time we got there. Someone has said that there is no bad weather for walking, only inappropriate clothing, and we were properly dressed.
The walk made me think of my time on restorative leave. The person who "managed" my leave was a psychologist I never met and with whom I didn't have a single conversation -- figure that out. He consulted with my physician who barely knew me until my months of leave, although he was very supportive and helpful. I was always aware though that I had fifteen minutes before he was feeling the pressure of his next patient.
My healing happened while I spent two months in the "back of beyond," living in a secluded farmhouse at the end of a dead-end road. During the day I listened to the wind and rain moving through trees like "a wave of applause" as one poetic writer termed it. There were wild creatures everywhere and even the dreaded mosquitoes provided the source for an aerial ballet as swallows chased them. In the evening I could hear the series of waterfalls a mile away which gave the name Ragged Chutes Road to the wonderful trail to nowhere on which I was living.
For me it was heavenly in every sense. God was there in the sounds and the signs and restored my soul.
5 comments:
It's those times that we take advantage of nature that our souls are restored. We too had a busy day of Christmas baking, grocery shopping for work and home, laundry, Christmas lights etc. (your lights look good), however in the midst of it all as I was running from one floor to the other with laundry or something, I saw to the west a wonderful red sky. I stopped, took a breath and just gazed out the window and the peaceful sun set and all the colour had to offer. We all need to do this more often. I felt like I had the energy to continue with my tasks.:)
We get virtually the identical view(we're neighbours)and we're often struck by that western sky.
For a while I kept a gratitude journal, and because I had committed to finding something to cherish in every day, I found myself more aware. Every walk,no matter where I was, easily provided something. I found as well, on the days I was too ill to venture on my walk, that I could still easily find my daily cherished moment by looking out my livingroom window. In my current blog I am challenging myself to write about one miracle a day. So far I am having no difficulty. It's a great way to begin each day.
The words you used to describe your walk and what you saw were beautiful. Thank you for sharing. I often miss the water and trees of Ontario. Here in SK, winter is upon us. We don't have dumps of snow yet, (which we so desperately need), but it is cold and there isn't a lot of life to be seen, besides the rare squirrel still storing food, or deer scrounging for food.
The one aspect of this time of year that I love is the sunrises. At this time of year, the sun is rising as I crawl out of bed, and I am witness to the most amazing sunsets right outside my window. In the summer, the sun is rising at 5am or earlier, so I miss out. Its nice to see the spectacular colours in the winter though.
I've heard from many sources that the sky of Western Canada is breathtaking at any time of the year. You'll have to grow those trees Deb!
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