In steady measured steps we move upward,
foot hitting root and rock,
a layer of orange, red, and yellow leaves swept along too.
Markers painted on the tree truck show us the way,
but just as often our eye is drawn to another less worn path,
to another possibility, and another.
This journey calls us.
Chasing the setting sun is my favorite while flying east to west, extending the day all the way until the only light left is the glittery criss-crossing boulevards of Los Angeles below, stretching in all directions as far as you can see. This flight was due to a new guy in town.
Call me modernist if you wish, but I really don’t know how to inhabit life without my own personal interests, memories, and desires, all working together to create my perception. Yesterday my daughter wrote, You love luck. She’s a perceptive one, but that is hardly a secret. I am obsessed with lucky objects, from a penny found on the road to any number of things that seem to ignite good fortune. I am equally obsessed with avoiding bad luck or drifting into that storyline. Not like I play the lottery, but if I am able to wrap up my work day with enough time to enjoy the outdoors under a moving canopy, I consider my fortune to be worthwhile. This week I’ve had a string of days with such luck. Hiking, running, biking and even a woods walk, all skirted between rain bursts.
Nine Cent Girl 