|reflecting - paulina lake, october 2015|
Weekend getaways are all about kicking back and well, getting away from the entire buzz of life. Caffeine excluded from this statement.
Somewhere around noon of day two’s whatever we want to do schedule, my baby and I decided to hike around the lake that we’d been watching transform before our eyes. The distance was seven and a half miles according to the sign. That sounded totally do-able. Especially since yesterday we had ventured out on two shorter hikes that amounted to six or so miles. Besides, we’d walked a small part of the trail; it seemed like a pretty comfortable walk by the lake. First glances can be deceiving.
Now, in all fairness to avid outdoors people, it probably was easy peasy. But to this urban girl, who only a few years ago had given up her love of walking due to not pleasant back pain from nerves having their life squeezed out; this hike was of larger-than-life proportions.
I noticed the scenery; which was stunning. The sun shot diamonds on the water that was disturbed with white caps the day before. Trees changed from lanky and unattractive lodge pole to towering pines and girthed Doug firs. There were scrubby juniper bushes loaded with dusty blue berries, thinking gin, tonic and extra lime …
The trail took on different personalities. Parts that were wide and softly padded with needles and other forest stuff that had fallen to the floor. Without giving the slightest clue, the path would climb up above a cinder flow with the craggy pieces littering the way. Other times we walked along a narrow edge that dropped to the water, stepping over big volcanic rocks rooted in the earth. All to descend to a marshy beach where the lake lapped almost inaudibly.
The restful lapping was then broken with what appeared to be smashed glass as shards of obsidian lined the route. And so the day and journey progressed.
At one point we stopped to breathe in, Lonny reading a chapter from a book to me in the cool shade; two flat rocks forming our stools. Tranquil and romantic.
As the day and trail wore on my body became weary, beginning to ache and fatigue. My pace slowed and my participation in our light and deep conversation faded into one word answers.
Lon took Belle, took the lead and slowed our pace.
I knew it was basic to take one step at a time. Stopping was not an option. Each step, one in front of the other, brought me closer to my beginning which was also the end. There was this certain, quiet determination in each placement of my feet. I knew I could do it, I had to do it.
My darling man picked up our conversation, filling the silent moments, those moments when maybe you want to stop. His words of, “look at this,” or “did you see that?” acted like a line pulling me along.
He didn’t have to say “keep walking,” his pace and words told me more.
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