Walking Back to the Love of a Beautiful Place

Have you ever experienced the way the light dissects leaves, noticed how a yellow daisy turns slightly green at its petal tips, or how earth shades become stronger under sunlight, strong enough to overwhelm by a bittersweet purity that feels like your past, present and future in a single glance?

Yesterday was like that. In spite of the brilliant fall sunshine,  I'm hyper aware of the proximity of the rains. They're coming. And, that means no time now to spare inside, better get outside, on day's like yesterday, this couple, caught napping in solidarity would surely agree.

So I drove to Stanley Park. First time there, since I returned to the Lower Mainland 10 months ago and that surprised me.

The route I took to get there was unusual for me.  Over the Ironworkers Memorial Bridge, up the upper levels, down Capilano road hardly any traffic mid afternoon, no slowing down across the Lion's Gate Bridge which once across, a quick right hand exit deposits into lushness, stops quickly and delivers Prospect Point. A freighter slides below, glides so wide and tall, might as well be a toy boat taking up the whole bathtub; float planes trade places with ravens.

I parked the car near that pool. Is it Second or Third Beach? I should know that by now.  I set off on a walk that I've done countless times before, when I lived on the park's rim, and as I began to walk it didn't take long before I began to feel fantastic. I was smiling, really smiling, inside even, and I realized how few people really smile because I was looking at them, directly into their faces, even when they were avoiding my gaze, which was mostly. Feeling that good exaggerated the contrast of how I've been feeling lately and how hard my body has been trying to catch my attention; to communicate what's missing.

Here, I must drive for miles to find a place to wander where the trees and the grass and the flowers feel like company. Too much inside, alone, just me and my computer screen, without daily wandering in beauty, observing how the shadows dance across a tree trunk, the wind tickles the surface of the ocean or how waves bursts throwing up silent explosions of beaded gauntlets. No stopping to pick up a shell or a black rock on a beach, and really examining them before gently placing them back down again or absentmindedly tossing it, contented.

You and I are not the only living things capable of changing each other. Natural surroundings can do that as deeply; and the loss of that affects the heart every bit as much as any other lost love now gone.

That's some of what I was thinking yesterday as I walked.

Bogged Down by Blogs

Did you know I have another blog? Well, here it is: Gayle's other blog.  Feel free to comment in the way you almost never did on this one my dear little voyeuristic followers.

The Breakfast of Denial

The Breakfast of Denial

We've all heard of the breakfast of champions. I can't recall exactly if there is a definable menu for that but I'm assuming it's what Olympians eat. Now, because I'm further removed from being an Olympian than Satan is from Heaven, I've come up with my own version of a little something called The Breakfast of Denial.

If you're eating like this as well, I have news for you: You're old, you're getting older and you're worried. Nobody eats this stuff for breakfast unless they're worried. If you weren't worried, you'd be jumping out of bed barely able to contain your excitement to get at the Count Dracula Cocoa Puffs or whatever those chemical turds are called, washed down with a little Red Bull. 

Instead, what we have above is one of the super foods, Blueberries, to which you pour in some flax seeds (preferably already ground), a bunch of Psyllium husks, and some other seeds called Chia which, may or may not grow those weird little windowsill pets with grass hair if you were to bury these Chia seeds in some dirt. Throw in some cinnamon, yogurt, soy milk and you're good to go for hours.  

I'm using it as a way to trick myself into feeling full for hours, not that hunger and the reason I eat have had much of anything to do with each other in the past decade.

I also bought a pedometer the other day. I wanted to see how few steps I actually take in a day to freak myself out enough to take more.  I suddenly understand why my mentor in the Writer's Studio is a marathon runner. It's almost a necessity if you're going to write for a living, glued to your computer screen and your desk chair, like they're mere extensions of your body.

When I went to put a "tag" on this post, I tried to find the word "health" in all the tags I've ever put on a post and health was conspicuously missing. MMMMM?