Red Hedge

Today I was out walking in the hills and I saw a hedge aflame with red leaves. So remarkable in its redness against the backdrop of neon green grasses and dark purple mountains.

Still so close to the weeks and months when I couldn’t walk at all or only for a few minutes before needing to sit down and rest. Now I am galloping along, bursting with gratitude for this seemingly simple act of walking.

Funny how we get up each morning with an idea about our day, thinking we know how things will unfold. But we don’t know. The unexpected flat tire. The tense moment with our partner or loved one. The call from the doctor that changes the course of our day or our life. Each a new doorway or portal into the unknown.

So when I set aside time to walk, to feel the renewed strength of my body, to suck up the sweet mountain air. To visit with the crows or the horses that come to greet me over the neighbor’s old wooden fence. I am in a deep state of reverence. Prayer. No longer walking because I should, but because I can.