“day 237″. “day 464″. “day 729″.

those are things i long to write at the beginning of my daily journal entry – and i want those numbers to represent consecutive days. you see, i’m trying to create less of me. writing a minimum of 1000 words daily so that eventually i’ll spill more and waste fewer words. walking daily to burn calories and create less of the physical me.

i will walk the same route day, adding an extra hill or bend every week, knowing that with each repetition, i will see the same things differently.

i will write in my journal – the one adored with the three graces – each day, knowing that with each entry, i will say more in less words.

that’s just the way it is . . . or so i’m told. now i’m committed to finding out for myself.

today is day 3, and though i promise not to bore you with every single walk, i did want to share some of the amazing things i saw on walk #3:

my path. see that little butterscotch-colored dot a little less than halfway up? that’s my walking mate, phoebe. a welsh corgi who has a funny way of herding.

made me think of my friend julie daley who’s winding up a trip to ireland. a budding dolmen, perhaps?

a late-blooming gardenia.

and this exquisite companion that came along to color my way:

Second helpin's:

1. communication gone to the dogs
2. lost (then found) in translation
3. happy times at happy time (best business 2009)

when i grow into full bloom, it will be as a blue morning glory.

most definitely.

Blue Morning Glory

Voracious, yes. But when you see it,

shy blue flowers blaring like trumpets in spite of themselves,

center star shaped and yellow; when it startles you,

early in the morning, all over a white picket fence, say,

in Massachusetts, you might think “triumphal,” “prodigal,” “awake.”

Of course you don’t want it in your rose garden

among all the pruned, the decorous bushes. You don’t want it

in the vegetables, for it will romp through the tomatoes,

beans and peas, will leave no room on the ground, or even

in the air, for the leafy lettuces and cabbages soberly

queueing up in their furrows. It will hog all the sky it can get

knowing as it does what enormous thirst is satisfied by blue.

Father Michael says Follow the God of abundance

Says we hurry from the moment’s wealth

for fear it will be taken. Think of this:

the morning glory has been blossoming for so long

without permission that in some gardens it is no longer censored.

What does that tell you? See how it opens its tender throats

to a world that can sting it, how, without apology for its excess,

it blooms and blooms, though even yet

it seems surprised.

Anne Pitkin

No related posts.

still drenched in color week, making my way through the crayola box called nature.

wednesday sent us in search of oranges and yellows . . .

sunset blazing

sunset amazing

sunset waning

today, we were on the lookout for purples . . .

aunt rene’s azaleas live on and bloom, just like memories of her

Second helpin's:

1. nature’s crayolas: reds, blues
2. a checklist to close out the day
3. it’s sunday, so it must be fidgety out

so i read about color week over at mrs. mediocrity’s nest, and didn’t i just bop on over to curious girl’s place and invite myself to the party. it’s been a rather stressful few days, and tuning in to notice colors seemed the perfect antidote to life in the medical pinball machine. but of course, i start out late, so my entry looks more like playing catchup.

so be it.

on monday i saw red . . .

when a neighbor’s cow came to call.

when the rusty moose went on the loose.

(well, maybe not on the loose, but, hey, i’m tired.)

when . . . oops.

when i saw the red dirt of home

had stained my clothes.

~~~~~~~~~

tuesday these things made me blue . . .

flawed glass

actually, it blew the blues.

Second helpin's:

1. nature’s crayolas: orange, yellow, purple
2. diving in: 2

i’m not an outside girl.

i’m not.

i just don’t like going outside. give me a window-laden, temperature-controlled room then leave me alone to treat the great outdoors as my own personal aquarium, and i’m good.

now i don’t know why i don’t like the outdoors, and i know i should be ashamed of myself because, really, what kind of person doesn’t love being outdoors? maybe it’s residual trauma from the time my mother insisted that i, the adorable little teensy jeanne, go outside to play. “no thank you,” i told her as i continued adding to my word collection which, for reasons that escape me to this very day, incited her to hoist me up, march outside, and sit me in my ruffled panties and ruffled socks and patent leather baby janes in the first mud puddle she came to. maybe it’s memories of my life as a miserable human bug magnet which resulted in summer legs covered in never-ceasing-to-itch bug bites. or maybe it’s because i have this, well, let’s just say unique eye thing going on that deprives me of depth perception meaning i don’t see a hole in the ground until i’m down in it.

it could be because we are hugely in love with waterfalls, but whatever the reason, something came over me yesterday, and i heard myself say an enthusiastic “yes” when hubbie asked if i wanted to make an impromptu stop and hike to glen falls.

i do lean towards authority issues, so that could be why i insisted we heed the advice carved into the post of the large bulletin board instead of availing ourselves of the plethora of printed information covering the actual board.

the hike started out easy enough with a rather gentle slope and relatively smooth ground. but soon enough came the trees and the accompanying exposed roots – which are interesting to look at, but can make someone with no depth perception a tad unsteady. on the up side, though, my small feet fit nicely into the little nooks and crannies created by the roots on the ever-increasingly sloped ground. (i also noticed that it was easier to walk when i put my feet down like i meant it instead of letting them tentatively feel around the ground before each step. just as in life, there’s something to be said for confidence.)

the sound of the falls grew louder until eventually we came to what surely is glen falls. while my husband took pictures from the paved and heavily-railed prepared-for-the-public photo spot beside the falls:

i made my way down to the cutest little spot between two trees right at the tipytop edge of the 200 foot drop – a spot where only two size 5.5 feet will fit – to take my snaps:

good news: footing was easier to come by on the trek back.

bad news: the trek back was all uphill . . . and i declare i think somebody stood that mountain up a little straighter while we were taking pictures of the falls.

i flunked out of girl scouts, so i’m always a little reluctant to move slowly or breathe loudly when on the rare outdoor adventure with my former eagle scout husband which meant i moved up the trail at a pretty fast clip. when we eventually came to a little ole’ bitty clearing, you’d've thought i’d never seen mountains, trees, and sky as i took umpteen pictures as a clever cover for catching my breath.

i’m certainly no expert on trail etiquette, but when we met the folks going down to the falls, it seemed the only courteous thing to do was to step aside and wait quietly to let them pass by. (okay, i would’ve said “hey” but i didn’t have enough breath. shoot, i barely had enough breath to smile at them.)

we made it back to the parking lot in the same day, i’ll have you know, and today i have only one teensy little double bug bite on my arm to show for my woodsy efforts. (don’t mistake that for a complaint.)

what did i learn from this little impromptu adventure? number one: pack those dryer sheets cause somebody told me to rub myself down with fabric softener and bugs will leave me alone. number two: step like you mean it. and number three: is there a mountain hike game for the wii fit cause honestly, i have to tell you that i much prefer looking at a waterfall from the heavily-cushioned rocking chair on our deck.

Second helpin's:

1. diving in: 2
2. things i have survived:

it snowed here last night.

just a dusting, really.

not enough for even one bowl of snow ice cream

but enough to cause the roads to be icy

and treacherous.

we spent most of the morning

with our noses to the window

taking in the beauty of the freshly-articulated trees

wondering if we can make it up and down the hills

on our daily walk.

i love the quiet stillness

the snow brings

and the blue air.

there are those who will explain

the hue and stillness

with great authority

using numbers and

formulas

and studies.

but they’re only theories, really.

educated guesses, really, that make some feel better about the world and themselves

but

sometimes we don’t need to know why

we just need to enjoy and revel in

what is

while it is.

Second helpin's:

1. when we gather around the campfire
2. good night, sweethearts