North Woods River Runner: January 2015

January 24, 2015
On A River Bank Writing In My Journal With:
Kora (as a 5 month old pup) & Kati (at 11+ years old)

It's a mild day today by winter's standards; mild enough to have leather mittens off for short periods of time. If you didn't know what month it was, you might even be fooled into thinking it wasn't long until spring. The red osier dogwood certainly looks bright and vibrant. It won't be long until sap flows in its vascular tubes, to produce swollen buds that grow opposite of each other on slender branches. I'm 48 1/2 years old today. That's half the age that my Grandma F. lived to, and not too far off the age of two of my other three grandparents. It causes me to wonder. Is it during this present season that I pass on to the other side of the "hill"?
Having grown up in Northern, Lower Michigan I've always been fond of hills - or any variance in terrain for that matter. It's intriguing and a break from sublime monotony. Like breezes on the surface of a pond, light filtering through a forest canopy, or a rock jutting up through a dolomite prairie, variances catch one's eye. That's not to say that other senses are void of distinguishing changes. The slightest hint of wood-smoke can beckon me off course like a mosquito drawn to soft, pink flesh. The scent of white pines in a forest of other trees can do that too. I compare it to a lock and key. Buried deep within my cells are sense triggers, that focus my brain and resurrect me to life. Various stimulants may prompt the senses, but only some resonate and connect me to nature's realm. On a ring there may be several keys, but only one can turn the lock. Likewise, certain senses open me to what nature offers. Spongy moss, soft fern fronds, and hickory fibers of steel are products of touch. A dried leaf flapping against its branch, like a fledgling bird pushed from its nest, will soon enough be released by new buds; it's once noble duty retired to the forest floor. Booming ice echoes off the shores as frozen, tectonic plates shift and grind in the eternal freezing and thawing process. It is an ebb and flow of expanding and shrinking water molecules whose sounds pound in your chest and awaken both attention and fears. Trickling water is an hour glass of time's passage. So are my years. So much has been experienced and accomplished. So much desire and things yet left to do. Who am I to wish beyond my expiration date?

Instead, I simply ask that with the time I have left, help me to live life to the fullest and to finish with nothing left - whenever that ending time might be. It might be within the hour or it might be another 48 1/2 years from now. Regardless, the blessings have been countless so I reflect on them as the fuel I ingest to spur me on. That, and the forgiveness, grace, and mercy to move past mistakes, and forge ahead.
They say that life works from the inside out. I do notice that senses delight as they detect facets of creation. The wonder of it all is how creation touches mind, body, and soul. Love radiating like the butterfly effect, spreads nature's awe within circles of influence. That delight, wonder, and love, is an appendage of me; the guy sitting here on the bank of an otherwise lonely river. It is here that I am surrounded by snow and woods, the sound of geese in the distance, and the sight of an immature eagle banking up over a bend in the river. The scent of wood smoke permeated my clothes and pores. Remnants of the fire that cooked breakfast, is now reduced to powdery ashes. Breezes rattling bank-side grasses and fingers now cold and stiff are all part of the process. It's a story that allows me to participate as a minor character. To that end I really don't care what side of the age-old "hill" I'm on. Like warriors of the past, I'd rather say, "Let's take the hill!" Mimicking my dogs who sit beside me, I'm ever alert, and full of life.

See you along The Way...

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Pictures From Ten Years Later

On The Same River Bank

January 24, 2025