Look But Don't Touch

We had been putting off The Kenyan Devore Trail.  It always seems like a little too far to drive, a little too far to walk.  We always have so much to do and somewhere we have to be later.  Today we were all in.  We had made the necessary adjustments to our day and our psyche.  This trail is our old friend, after all.  It was a friend we hadn’t seen in a long time.  And not because we had some sort of falling out and now were getting back together in any kind of uncomfortable situation or some attempt to put aside any bad feelings.  It was a friend we had been separated from due to conditions out of our control and now the time was right to meet again with an optimistic embrace. 

The trail is steep but gentle.  It offers quite a bit of shade and so if the day is sunny, you feel a little comforted and even somewhat nestled beneath the canopy of the quiet, cool oak and maple.  We are encouraged by every startled blue jay and invigorated by the lifting of the mourning doves as we turn each bend.  I look forward to it not least of all because there is no one else out there.

Where the earth had been scorched it was now covered with new growth.  Lush with the Turricula Parry (poodle-dog bush), baby blue eyes and yellow-orange poppies.  The Turricula Parry, especially, thrived after the fire, celebrating the full sun where there was once a dense canopy.  It’s a poison plant I am all too familiar with but which I have come to admire for its patience and beauty.  It stands tall and sways gently as it puts forth a slightly acidic yet earthy scent.  Some find the scent less than appealing but I am drawn to it and it was this scent that had me scooping up bundles of it when I first encountered it last year.  I delighted myself in finding a field of it and stepping right in as if wading through a snowdrift.  I plucked the flowers and stems.  I held the sticky leaves to my nose.  I devoured its scent.  I stuffed my backpack with it and pledged to plant it at home!  Then the itching began.  My lungs tightened.  I coughed.  I scratched.  My eyes watered.  I was certain I had some kind of dreadful condition which would soon render me lifeless!  Anyway… when it comes to the poodle-bush… look but don’t touch. 

The baby pine trees were sublime.  Little darlings perfectly perched, each staking their claim in this new land of opportunity.  I imagine coming back each year to see the progress and I make a note to check with Chris on the growth of a pine tree.  It is particularly striking to see these new pines surrounded by the blackened spires of their predecessors.  The elegance of each tree in death standing as a token of remembrance.  The emerging trees beneath a message of the unexpected possibilities in life.

I felt myself tire as we urged each other on in the last miles.  I dug deep to lift my feet, one in front of the other.  Wincing I admitted to Sharon that I was sure I had developed blisters on the back of each heel.  She said we should stop and doctor them up but I foolishly dismissed the good advice.  I was sure if I stopped it would be too difficult to start again.  What happened with my sure-fire double-sock strategy?  I would later discover each sock worn so thin I may as well not have worn socks at all.  I maintain, in my defense, that I cannot account for what happens at 5:00am on Sunday morning when I’m dressing in the dark.