A Walk, With Diamonds

What I liked about yesterday was the sparkle. It had rained during the night, and curved blades of grass were adorned with diamond droplets. It was as though someone had waved a magic wand over the land and left it lovestruck and twinkling.

I went for a solo morning hike, seven miles of up and down, and the sparkle didn’t subside. I saw cobwebs and spider webs all strewn with those diamond drops. One bejeweled circle was so like a necklace, I thought of picking it up and trying it on, but my own shadow leaning over it diminished the effect.

There were fields of dandelions, and I remembered my grandfather long ago gathering dandelion greens for salad, giving me a whole new way to look at dandelions, which previously, in their puffball states, were mostly just for wishing. In the distance, big clouds were casting shapes of themselves in darkness above the mountains, shifting the mood from bright to brooding and back again to bright. Old dirt roads curved and climbed and descended, and I recalled the strain and joy of cycling on those very roads. I took a break to eat white chocolate and a tangerine, and that’s how the day tasted.

There is no more or less time than there used to be, but everything feels different. Thoughts are shoved over and rearranged, leaving the illusion of space in the drawer, but the vacancy feels challenging. I am certain that I will judge myself someday on what I piled into these newly visible spaces, or what I failed to address. Solitude is a teacher, and I tried, as I walked, to listen.

What I heard, at last, was the canyon wren, and the wind, which had no answers.