Best Walk Ever (The Third & Final Installment)

Sunlight sparkling on the pond. It really was a gorgeous day.

A bird’s nest. Seems like the branches of the tree are almost as twirly as the nest.

Someone lost their fishing line.

The heron and the mallards. One of the great advantages to moving so slowly was that I was also moving quietly. This allowed me to get unbelieveably close to the heron and the ducks. I might have gotten even closer if the gunshots hadn’t scared them off. It’s hunting season here in the Bogs and being out in the country means being surprised out of one’s wits by the occasional gunshot.

More berries. I’ve never seen these before and have no idea what they are.

My Rocky Moment. I had made it around the perimeter of the property and the pond. All I had left to tackle was the hill.

The future pine forest.

The hill. The Sledding Hill, to be exact. It doesn’t look like much in this photo. You have to be at the bottom to truly appreciate it. Or half-way up, which about when I started to feel this hill.

Sworls of dried grasses.

At the top of the hill and the end of my Saturday morning adventures.

It was one of the best walks I’ve ever taken. I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone, including myself, but I’m glad to have had the opportunity to really slow down and enjoy a good walk. I appreciate it all the more because there have been so few walks outdoors lately.

I was going to go for another walk today, but I really should use this newly acquired energy to pack. The big move is on Friday. Yes, that’s this up and coming Friday.

I don’t think I’m quite ready for it.

A word about Sunday Scribblings: This week’s prompt is nemesis. I wrote a very lengthy post about the pain I’ve been in and its role as nemesis in my life. However, I think it might be entirely too personal to post as it is. Perhaps I can tone it down a bit and post it later.

Man takes root at his feet, and at best he is no more than a potted plant in his house or carriage till he has established communication with the soil by the loving and magnetic touch of his soles to it. Then the tie of association is born; then spring those invisible fibres and rootlets through which character comes to smack of the soil, and which make a man kindred to the spot of earth he inhabits. –JOHN BURROUGHS, The Exhilaration of the Road, Winter Sunshine, 1875