I think I can see the future.
Or, the trees with the forest?
Are we there yet? Have we made it through the clouds, through the forest?
I think I can see the future.
Or, the trees with the forest?
Are we there yet? Have we made it through the clouds, through the forest?
What happened to my beautiful autumn?
Today was one of those fall days when I just had to take a walk.
No mask. No distancing. Just a walk outdoors.
The fresh air keeps me from thinking why so many governments and media outlets want me to be afraid to breathe. Afraid to breathe? Yeah, because somebody might die. I have to be afraid of breathing? Doesn’t make sense.
So I took a walk. On a mountain path suitable for this 75yr old, three years after a stroke, nevertheless, in good health.
Clouds were everywhere. And they weren’t everywhere as I walked uphill.
I breathed deeply the air. The air was influenced by agriculture and forestry management. It was not influenced by bustling cities. When I inhaled deeply. The air felt clean and healthy deep down in my lungs. The entire passage felt clean and healthy.
To me that is not only the basis of life, it is the simplest pleasure of life. I was feeing refreshed, what to speak of fall color and 50 degrees Fahrenheit
Then I was in the clouds. I found myself walking in the sound of clouds. In case you haven’t, you should note that clouds come and go without sound. Without even the slightest whisper they come, they envelope, then they leave. Through the entire experience, the thread of sameness was silence.
But other things changed. As I walked deeper into the cloud, I saw less and less about me. My breathing became labored. Then my mind took over–had I been enveloped by a covid cloud? Hard to breathe–is this my end–is this the beginning of harder and harder breathing–never getting enough?
Then the cloud lifted. Clarity resumed. Unhindered deep breathing resumed. I was no longer afraid to breathe.
And speaking of stealth, I think my freedom to breathe healthy air deep into my lungs, under some debatable guise, may be in real life, stealthily taken from me.
I looked out the window today. Fall had snuck in, big time. Nearby a huge old linden tree was freely droping leaves. It made me think of snow flakes, large snow flakes drifting down on a day with no wind.
It was mid afternoon. There was still an autumnal warm sun. I had to take a walk.
It was time for me to get back home for dinner.
This week was my three year anniversary marking my release from the hospital. Three years ago I returned home for the first time following a stroke and three months in hospital–from stretchers to wheelchairs to walkers to crutches to home.
Then the last three years of physio, ergo and logo. If anyone reading this has friends or family with stroke, then consider this encouragement. Improvements can occur even three years after the stroke.
Sun + flowers = hope + beauty
Islands of trees in the clouds.
This is not augmented reality.
This is not CG.
This is not AI.
Cloud time is not human time.
…I can’t tell the difference between the onset of old age and covid19, 20 or whatever*.
No matter how I look at it…
And ahead,
*covid, China virus, Kung flu, Wang Chung?!! Everybody have fun tonight.
I can’t help it.
We are observers.
And what happened during? Were we all there? Growth. Health.
More personal than usual.
Every week, maybe a couple days each week, I take a walk amongst the agricultural valleys in the mountainous region surrounding me. And on every walk I discover something in the plants, gardens, fields and landscape that rejuvenates some part of my being.
Normally I capture a photo to share with what I hope is a caption that will captivate the guests who visit my blog. Well the last couple weeks, I have taken the photos and when I have returned home to review them, I have not felt inspired. Can’t explain it.
So today I have written this strange entry.
Now I will review my recent photos and hope to find one or more to attach to this post.
I found two.
I feel better now.
When waiting to pick up the take-out, what is the safe social distance?
Flew away–without the take-out.