When does "... at her age." become the warning point in your life? Fifty... sixty... seventy... eighty?
Once you take a bad fall and you are oh... say... beyond sixty, you don't bounce. You hurt yourself, and the hurt doesn't go away like it did 20 years before. It lingers...and then it decides to MOVE IN and set up housekeeping.
Well, that's where I'm at. It's all about the body. It's all about, physical therapy, doctors trying to figure out what is wrong with you and what they should do to make you better. It's all about limited movement and pain.
So, I'm not hiking as much right now. I'm walking on the river road. It's flat, doesn't put pressure on the joints as much and I meet people more. I'm getting out and about.
This morning I drove down to our entrance and parked the car, thinking about how I use to walk down and back up our very steep dirt road. That was 15 years ago, before my feet turned on me.
I parked and started walking. I looked back and thought about how far I should get from the car. My hip was starting to say things to me.
I said, " I don't know. I'm not sure I can walk that far yet."
He said, "Well then, you're going to miss something beautiful."
That's when I went and got my walking shoes, put them on, and left. I'm so glad I did.
There are some days that are made for walking. This was one of them. Spring is here, in all of its glory. The birds are flying, the sky is so blue that it looks like a painting. The rain last week cleared the air and made the sunshine brighter. It smelled like sunshine... like earth and plants... and creek water.
I walked to the first bend in the road and as I came around the turn I saw something orange above me.
More than any other year, it seemed as if Mother Nature was having a really good time out there.
Even in the area burned by the fire, that almost took our farm two summers ago, the poppies were growing in profusion.
All her life, this native Californian, thought that she would be arrested if she picked one of these little flowers. What deception.
So I will go back tomorrow and pick a few of the thousands that are blooming (on OUR property, I might add.) and bring it home to brighten my kitchen window and remind me of the loveliness of this place,
... but probably not. Old habits die hard.
My hip feels better already. I think I may live to walk another day. Maybe I should lie down in the poppy field and see if the flowers cure my ailment. Yes...quickly... before the Rattlesnake come out.
Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night. ~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke