It is one of our customs to walk together during the holidays, breathing fresh air, moving, visiting with neighbors and each other, getting out in the woods or on to the beach. This never gets old, never predictable. I wonder how many times each of us has hoofed up this particular length of road toward the county park over the past forty years, and what has been truly seen on these walks. Do we notice the aberrations to what we expect to see, or notice something just because it is thought that has been on our mind (and we start to see it everywhere)? Plants, leaning in to the winter, splayed out in a trail connecting back to the memory of summer.
“Trees that had looked like any other to me became as recognizable as the faces of old friends in a crowd, their branches gesturing with sudden meaning, their leaves beckoning like identifiable hands. Clumps of grass and the edges of the now-familiar bog became landmarks, guides, indecipherable to everyone but us.”
Cheryl Strayed, Wild
