On one of my free four hours, I decide to go for a lovely little stroll straight up a mountain 600 metres over 1.7km. Perhaps stroll is not the appropriate word. Lovely neither.
The higher I climb, the higher my expletive count. Just as I am cursing knee joints, muscles, nature, ME time, hunger pains, tree roots and pretty much existence as I know it, I happen upon this decorated trail marker,and I smile.
My body still aches, there is still more to climb, but my mind no longer begrudges.
For about half an hour I sit up there in silence. It’s a meditation without trying to meditate, which of course is the best kind.
Eventually a group of four arrives disrupting the quiet, though not the joy. We have a quick chat as only you can at the top of a mountain (you know, full of poetic marvelings at the wonder of it all) and I realize I need to get back down in time to pick up my youngest from preschool.
Down goes smoothly (no falls!), if not gracefully (shaky legs and close-call tumbles!)
I had envisioned my hike alone would give me lots of time to plot Kaya’s birthday or think up some story ideas or I don’t know plan things. Instead I just find quiet. Me and Nature and Exercise, oh there is nothing better for the Soul.