Lyrics to live by

I am walking along the backbone of the crest at the top of the driveway from the house that sits above the cabin where I sleep. The road divides the north from the south, the quick descent to one harbour from the slow, long way down to another harbour. There is packed dirt and crushed stone under foot and very few trenches, because this is a road less traveled. While it is signed a dead end, it is a long journey to that end from the start and so sparsely populated with homes that the morning and evening walks are seldom interrupted by cars coming or going. I have wandered up a few driveways and down some paths marking the future driveways of fortunate land owners and most people seem to be somewhere other than here. Given the lawn art, the beautiful landscaping, the largess of the homes and the drawn curtains, I would say they were summer folk, lovers of the fair weather Salt Spring. I am, at times, so very envious.

I was a rock last time I visited this island. It was simpler in some ways. Now I have built bridges and the stay is different, not quite troubling, not quite invigorating, but a place where thinking is being outpaced by feeling. Not a bad thing, but after years of so much of one, the other is hard sometimes.

There is a word I am sure for this thing I have, perhaps in one of the more dramatic languages of a culture with emotion. It is not remorse, it is not regret, it is a sorrowful understanding that things are as they were going to be. I have done right for the me that travels many times even though the me that is this one, this now me, is hurting. The word I seek conveys a sublime though subtle joy that progression is at hand and this small conquerable mountain has been taken and like the bear who went over one, there is another one in view and like all mountains this one is full of beautiful sights, wondrous smells and sounds that inspire the climb. There are sharp drop offs and exhausting trails that dead end forcing me back down and up again, sometimes over and over til I find the one allowing through passage. Character building, ass building, capacity for living building.


It was sunny and blue skied this morning when I rolled over to look out the french doors of the bedroom. I took full advantage and walked that crest of the road for an hour, dropped down til it ended and then slowly, but deliberately strode back up and home, to the December home on the island where I am no longer a rock. I smile a bit as the realization of lessons learned and muscles built sinks in.



P.S. Don't short order cook for a whining poodle. He really doesn't want his own fried egg, he wants yours.