Setting foot onto the path, I can see change in the land. Much time has passed since I was last here. As seasons of life bring change, the season of winter has changed this mountain trail.
Turning my head, side to side, I take in the differences in the land. The view from the trail has been altered by many felled trees. A familiar landscape, yet unfamiliar. I sense movement in this foreign landscape. Searching for the source, I see my shadow making its way through the forest beside me.
Farther down the trail, I see the streams, that cross the path. There has always been joy in the challenge of making my way across. With time, the path across the creeks may change, rocks and logs may shift; but, always, there's a way.
I notice a new stream, a new pathway carved across the trail by winter. I reach for a broken branch lying by the trail and easily make my way across rocks, using the branch as support. I continue on to streams I've crossed many times, before. As I approach, I search for the stepping stones through the stream. This, too, has become unfamiliar. I scan the creek, slowly, this time. Again, I see nothing to aid in crossing. This season of winter, of life, was too harsh. I am unequipped to forge this creek.
I walk the stream for a ways in each direction, hoping to find a place to cross. The point to where I have arrived is the base of the largest climb. The ascent would have begun after crossing this last stream. The lay of the land at the base forms a small cove. The hill begins its climb on either side. To my left, a rock bank lines the cove. I make my way into this shelter and choose a fallen tree on which to rest.
Setting my pack on the ground and leaning the branch I had used as a walking stick against the log, I take a seat. The tree still holds the moisture from the recent rains. After sitting for some time, the evening's chill begins to set in. The sun is sinking behind the trees and the creek carries a breeze. Thankful, that I had thought to bring an extra shirt, I untie it from my waist and slip it over my head.
I sit and listen to the creek's flow. The gentle sound of the waters soothes, deeply. In this soothing chill, this "quiet", I study the rock wall to my side. It is, almost, cavelike in its formation. I have, always, been drawn to this cove and to this rock lined wall, but have never paused long, before today. I decide to stay awhile.
I have been on this trail in all seasons. Through winter, when snowflakes began to fall, gathering on lashes, gazing through fields of diamonds. Through the heat of summer, when sweat trickled down back's hollow. When spring flowers were budding in shades of lavender.
I have written from this trail before. "The Journey" was the name that became of the notes scrawled here, that day. It was a different season, an autumn day. Again, life's seasons had made their mark. Fallen leaves heavily covered the forest floor. I did not realize I had crossed the trail I was seeking. I nearly became lost. I finally listened to what the mountains were telling me. Telling me that it was time to stop. So intent, was I, on "my path" that I missed the signs I was given. Thankfully, in that season, I made my way back safely.
Today, I thought to write, as well. To write of poetry. So many feelings, inside. Both beautiful and painful emotions. Unable to tell them apart, as they all carry the same sweet scent of beauty. For this, I am grateful.
I thought to write of poetry. Instead, I wrote of my experience of finding my way through new places in old lands carved by change. I wrote of the damp chill in the air causing me to seek warmth. I wrote of gentle sounds soothing my spirit. I wrote of the past, of the present. I did not write of the future, as I am uncertain of it, as I am of these new lands.
I thought to write of poetry.
Instead, I wrote of change.
I wrote of seasons.
