February 20, 2009 - 12:34 am - GMT
She parked her pickup close to the sagebrush. Acutely aware of the quiet.
The February air bit her skin with the dry chill of desert morning. Her stiff cold fingers threatened non-compliance as she laced and tightened her boots.
The nail biter 4×4 roll down a thousand feet of snowy dirt had not brought her the warming canyon floor she’d hoped for but, it was early. The was day not likely to get colder, so she layered on everything she could find in her pack, grabbed her poles, and set off.
Not enough snow for snowshoes, but enough to chill her feet so she moved quickly.
The small dusting of fresh white had fallen last night, making the coyote track pristine and distinct in front of her. She hadn’t expected company. Was glad though for the four footed steps marking the path. It felt right. Brought a warmth into her skin.
Copper sandstone rose around her as the sagebrush scrubbed her pant legs fragrant. Nice the cold season, no deer ticks to worry after at the end of the day.
New trails were such a special kind of delight and about two miles in, she found herself transfixed before an unexpected beaver pond. The beavers here had done an excellent job and she was forced high off the trial to find a way around the marsh that had formed.
Not difficult routing, the coyote had found a path walkable for two legs also. Once again, her gratitude for the canine’s presence was sent out to the universe—a silent salute.
She walked on for some time. The trail rising and bending along with the canyon, its creek now below her carving the earth.
She watched the sky gently push blue into the gray clouds, coaxing shadows from the cold hills and stunted trees.
She listened to the wind and the water. Allowed them to brush away the heavy thoughts she was carrying and gently lighten her mind. Listening too, when the low yellow sky light told her it was time to head back.
On the return, she found a dry place near the beaver pond and fetched out her small meal of dried fruit and day-old bread. As she munched quietly, she listened to the rhythm of the pond. The small gurgles that would soon call the beavers back to their task.
The slow trickling water sang in a special voice. Carried its wisdom through the land, feeding and quenching both moving feet and rooted souls.
The water rinsed clean any angst still lingering in her. Reminded her of what was true. She heard a rustling near and behind her, but felt no fear. Knew it was her guides sweeping the last of the dust from her thinking.
As she came clear in her soul once again, she remembered the grandfather’s teachings about darkness. She remembered how all people carrying darkness had a most terrible burden.
Arms laden and leaden, they dragged with them everywhere baskets of pain, sorrow, and regret. When one basket became full, another they readily picked up. Filling it also as they journeyed through life. Weary and worn, from the weight of it all, they trudged on.
These shadow warriors had only to set down their baskets and turn down a new road to be free. And yet they did not.
The grandfather’s teachings did not praise or criticize these dark basket carriers. The teachings told that each human soul carries a basket of dark pains. But in one lifetime or another every human will awaken and simply set the basket aside, and will then step naturally into their freedom, realizing the truth of their inner being. This was the teaching.
Send blessings. That was what the grandfather’s teachings taught also. Send blessings to all who are burdened.
The teachings taught that a blessing is made of a special kind of light.
And any light, is light. It will push on the shadows, help make the way clear, set feet to stop stumbling.
The eyes must only be open, ready to see.
The grandfather’s teaching stressed too, that the more blessings sent, the brighter the light becomes. The easier it is to see. Taught that this is the true heart of compassion.
A light breeze picked up as she moved surefooted toward the trailhead and her truck. The wind now blew the coyote prints soft and invisible, but she no longer needed them. Her eyes were again open, seeing clearly in the available light.
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inspired in part by the SES prompt: ‘The Hill‘
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