When things are different

After a serious bout with a chronic illness, it is not an easy thing to admit that I am not yet well.  Normally I like to think of my legs as powerful pistons that gobble up hillsides in strong easy strides.  The trail all Fall Run Park is just under 2 miles if you take it all the way to the end and then back again.  When I am in optimal physical condition (for myself that is, as an overweight middle-aged but otherwise fit woman) the walk takes me less than 30 minutes, save for moments of meditation or stopping to take pictures.  

It is a frigid fall day and the cold is clinging to my bones like a coat on a hanger.  Fatigue has settled into my joints and muscles and my breath heaves as I make my way to the top of the first hill.  I hear the smallest of the two larger waterfalls before I see it which brings warmth to my heart.  This particular waterfall has typically slowed to a trickle at this part of the year, if it is flowing at all.  However, it has been an unseasonably rainy autumn.  Many of the leaves are still green and growing, not yet offering a display of rusts and reds.  The water spills down the rock into the creek beneath it.

I've barely walked half a mile but my body says its time to rest.  I sit on a slick mossy boulder near the waterfall I affectionately refer to as "The Little Sister."  She is often overshadowed by the "The Big Sister", a 30 foot fall that runs throughout the year, the fall the creek never abandons even when the rains give way to snow.  

A swell of gratitude overtakes me.  It never occured to me that I would be so weak today, that the larger fall would be out of reach.  The gurgling song of the smaller fall is a gift to me today.  It's as if the creek I love so well knew that I would need her.

An expected swell of emotions overtakes me and I begin to weep in big gulping hiccups which deplete the air in my lungs. The tears chap my face in the  chilled air but I let them come.  I put my head down as my body shakes, take note of the droplets that fall from my eyes onto the muddy soil beneath me.  I'd like to think they will join with the waters of the creek, commingle with the creek water pooling beneath the cascade of Little Sister.

I hear a soft thump and look up to see a starling perched on a branch not more than 6 or 7 feet from my head.  The black bird with a few colored iridescent feathers seems to take in Little Sister alongside me in solidarity.  As I quickly grew tired in this attempt at a hike, I feared it was a mistake to come but I see now this little haven of wilderness is giving me what I need.  This short journey was not what I expected, but it was everything.