I walk in a historic park, a place sacred to the Nez Perce. It is sacred to me too, a half mile from my cabin, and almost always empty of people. The trails are short; you have to double back to get any mileage out of it. But it's enough.
In the past this park was a place to run through in my quest to cover miles. Now I am forced to slow down and I can't say it is all bad. There are sweet nuances I never took the time to notice before. I never thought three miles could feel like such a victory.
|The shade of the ponderosas.|
|This little pond freezes in winter. I wonder what it would be like for swimming?|
|Hello, deer friends.|
|I can't believe I live here sometimes. I stopped and stared just like a tourist.|
|I'm going to be all right.|