Pocket Full of Posie...

Work friend couldn't go out on our scheduled walk today.  She twisted her knee funny coming down the stairs to see me.  So I went out on the scheduled walk by my lonesome.  There's an old feral herb garden along the path.  I decided that since she couldn't go out for a walk in the nice day, a tiny bit of the nice day needed to come into her.  Her little sweet daughter is away at camp right now & she misses her terribly.  Work has been... uninspiring, to say the least... lately for both of us.

So I made her a little posie bouquet with chamomile for calming, mint & rosemary for invigoration to get through the day, and a wild rose to remember that there are beautiful things just outside when we leave work behind for the day.

Ephemeral Darkness

The other evening at dusk, P & I took a walk.  As we walked, we talked about being out in the woods.  I miss having woods that were relatively safe at night (at least with other people, I never venture out alone night or day into the woods, outside of one place and that place may as well be Avalon now for all its accessibility to me).  It was almost a  perfect half moon.

I used to have a group of friends in college, we'd walk through the woods to the beach on full moons... and occasionally new moons.  In retrospect, I'd say it might have been a mile as the crow flies?  Longer as the trails wend.  Full moons were easy -- the path/s so bright and easy to find, with a few densely wooded areas within the woods that were trickier.  New moon was easy -- if you knew what you were doing and how to walk in the dark night.  For me it's easy.  Look up to see where the trees part to help clarify the path.  Feel with my feet, the edges of a wooded path turn up slightly at the edges.  Stay in the middle, and you stay out of the bushes.  Edges of puddles start getting squishy a little further out than one might notice when just eyes are providing the information.

Walking down the last part to the beach was the tricky part for folks not accustomed to walking in the dark.  It was a downhill stretch with a hair pin or two, with roots jutting out from all the trees around.  As I felt the roots, with small, low, careful steps, I'd call them out.  There were a few stumbles, but no one ever fell.  And then we were there, on the beach.  The beach doing its beach thing.  In the dark.

Only once I walked folks out to the organic farm instead of the beach, maybe a mile, the path was fairly direct -- I didn't go out there via the woods very often, and had only been out there a couple of times generally.  I figured the same principles applied as when I walked to the beach though, and stepping carefully, watching the "path" in the trees, and feeling the edges of the path with my feet.  We easily made it out there & back.  As always.

I never really understood why it was a big deal to be able to walk in the dark, it seemed like such common sense to me.  Eventually I came to understand that what made sense to me was because I had learned it -- where I could walk alone safely in the woods.  I would walk way out by myself at night, stepping up against the bushes, rarely seen by those with the flashlights and the lanterns, except occasionally on full moon nights when my pale skin glowed too bright and I didn't cover enough.  This no doubt is a strong influence on my inclination to wear dark colors as well, generally. In the dark, I can always pull up my sleeve, bare my belly, or look up from under my hood -- if I need to be seen.

Even on bright nights, there were people who never ventured out without their flashlights/lanterns.  But there were also always the stories of people missing each other or "hiding" along paths, so it's not like folks didn't know it was possible... or maybe they just were better about remembering their flashlights/lanterns/having batteries/kerosene than I ever was.  Once or twice on the college walks, with just one or two people, I pulled them into a spot just far enough off the path that another more boisterous party passed without seeing us.  They were fairly astounded that it had worked.

I always preferred the dark though, the near invisibility it brought me, allowing me to slide from place to place, choosing when to be seen, when to interact and be social, and when to continue on my way unperceived, often lost in my own thoughts, or just preferring to allow the introvert some peace and recovery.  This is how I came to understand The Dark as an old and deeply comforting friend.