january

Late January, #70

jpallen City Life, Nature Life , , ,

1

Walking, walking. /

When I search online for the benefits of walking, I find many good reasons to take up this healthy habit.

I have been thinking about walking since spending a week at the beach in late December. Each day I woke, ate, walked, rested, ate, walked, ate, rested, and slept.

When I returned home, I asked, “Why is walking not a thing I just do, like eating and sleeping?”

So that is what I did. I’ve been walking on my lunch hour at work three to three and half miles and longer on the weekends. I do feel I am reaping the health benefits that are listed online, both physically and mentally. I am happier when I am at work, home, or doing the shopping. I

Another benefit that has occurred to me is the experience of seeing the world around me. The one right here that I miss when I am hurrying from one thing to the next, regardless of my mode of travel. The one right here that is alive as I, right under my nose: the creeks, the trees, the grasses, and the people with whom I share a “hello.”

I wonder if this is the thing that makes me happier: not only seeing and experiencing the world around me while walking, but also knowing that I am part if it, taking care of it, no matter where I am.

On the old bridge rail
receding snow snakes across, 
droplets fall below

2

Wintertime grasses
seemingly slip by the creek
dredged in morning’s snow

3

Creek crackled sun beam
sparkles under the overpass
a break in the clouds

Mid January, #68

jpallen City Life , , ,

1

Gazing out the window
wintering sage blossoms white…
with morning’s frozen dew

2

“Wait……wait……wait,” from the speaker box. ‘

Waiting to cross the street, I see a gentleman through the traffic walking towards me on the block up ahead. 

A “chirp……chirp……chirp” fills the air signaling it is safe to walk.  I check the traffic and go.
As the gentleman and I get closer, I notice the contrast in our clothes:  I in a down parka, gloves, wool hat and mask and he in a short sleeve button up and a disheveled paper mask.  We meet at the curb, his cheeks show a smile while he gives a muffled “Hello”.  I return the smile and a muffled, “Hi.”

From behind the mask, “Let me tap the crossing button for you.” 

“Thank you.”

“Wait……wait…..wait.”

In the water’s flow
the rising full-moon
dances

3

The old tin building
along the abandoned railroad…
mimics the winter sky

Early January, #66

jpallen City Life, Nature Life , ,

1

Does this old leaf…
       …glimpse the wintering seed…
Illuminating its shadow?

2*

Missouri Flat Creek
plows the field of winter grasses…
a row for the moon

3

Along the sidewalk …
I find what the birds
were chirping about!

*Photograph and poem inspired by the practice instruction “A Ploughman on the Shining Field” by Zen master Hongzhi as translated by Taligent Dan Leighton and Wi Wu in the book Cultivating the Empty Field, the Silent Illumination of Zen master Hongzhi (Tuttle Publishing, North Clarendon, VT, 2000) 48 – 49

December to January – Waves, #65

jpallen City Life, Nature Life , , , ,

Day 1

Melissa and I give it a go. We pull in a rest stop,  “Let’s wait for the crowd thin.”  “Looks like the folks  are wearing masks, let’s give it a go.”   Returning to the car I ask, “Do you think the airflow in the bathrooms is adequate here?” while rubbing sanitizer on my hands.   I’ve made this trip many times, and even with this pandemic edge , the scenery and the traffic look the same, beautiful as I remember, as we follow the Columbia River to the sea. Arriving at the cottage, the clouds have cleared.

Without a splash
sinking into the sea
the setting sun

Day 2

The sun rose this morning behind the clouds.  We head out for a morning walk in the sun’s filtered light. The tide is low and the beach stretches far to the sea. There are a few folks passing by among the few scattered rocks and branches.

Beyond the tide
a bare branch lies,
the crest of a wave

The closest place to whale watch is twenty miles north at Oswald State Park.  It is afternoon and we arrive at the pullout. We realize we are not the only ones looking for a chance to spot a gray whale on their migration south.  The turnouts are full of people. After continuing down the road we find space in a turnout a fair distance away from others.  Setting up our binoculars we begin to scan the open waters looking for a big whale breath, a vertical spray of mist or the slap of a tail.  Looking and looking and looking, as the sea slowly moves up and down with it’s own breath, we find it is getting dark and decide it is time to return to the cottage. We arrive safely home and sit quietly at the outdoor table.

Adorning the cottage
Coffeeberry shrub in bloom,
A hummingbird happens by

Day 3

The storm arrived in the night. The sound of the waves increase in intensity, similar to the sound of a strong wind blowing through the Western Red Cedar in our backyard at home. After the morning rain we decide to take a walk.  The sea whips up a froth, the result of the turning waves mixing with decaying organic matter from below the surface. This foam covers the beach and debri like an overnight snow. I am finding the coast a place of constant change. On our walks together, I experience changes taking place from moment to moment, without time to go forward or backward.

Seagulls gather
a fish flip-flops on the sand
raindrops begin to fall

Day 4

Day 5

Above the rock wall
Giant Canes sway in the wind
giving us a wave goodbye!

On the drive home we make our first rest stop.  I shut off the engine and watch.  There are people with and without masks,  some walking in, some walking out, some walking their dogs.  They move in waves, some in a rush, others taking their time. The crowd thins and we decide it is time to pee. We return to the car and I ask, “Do you think the airflow in the bathroom was adequate?” rubbing sanitizer on my hands.

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