Song of the Open Road

I heard the echo of Walt Whitman as I treated myself to a solo walk through the woods Sunday morning (which turned out to be a nice palette cleanser for the stress of that crazy Packer game.) Fog lifted as I strolled along and that felt like a metaphor.

We humans breath a little deeper in the woods and we think a little clearer. I think our winged and furry friends do too.

I saw a flock of turkeys slink backward from the path into the trees and I wondered at their attempted stealth. Wild turkeys normally make a raucous noise, hurling themselves away in loud, awkward fits of panic. But, perhaps because they saw me armed with my trusty Nikon, these turkeys seemed to tip toe away strategically, one wing held to beak, shhhhhhh!

I chuckled as I made my way past and called out softly, “It’s ok. I’m only shooting with my camera!”

A deer jumped across the path ahead of me so I stopped and held my breath. Another followed and then another. I counted eight of them and I wondered if they were an extended family or a group of friends out whooping it up on an unseasonably warm October afternoon.

“Stay safe, buddies,” I thought. “There’s only 38 frolicking days until gun deer season.”

As I looped around a still pond and along a grass-covered dirt road, I saw a tiny purple flower sticking bravely up. I saluted it for hanging in there through seasons, tractor tires, hooves, feet and paws. When I bent down to take its picture, I noticed a small bee working hard, resting on one small petal, and I marveled at the giving nature of every living thing.

Real adventure awaits those with the time and means to seek it.

But, it also beckons from the inhale of a deep breath midway through a lovely walk on a precious, ordinary Sunday afternoon.