“If I knew the way, I would take you home.”
The Grateful Dead
Thirty five degrees: good walking weather for January.
I drove two miles west to the trailhead. The sky was pale blue and smeared with transparent milky clouds. I turned my collar up against a brisk breeze. The forested trail, damp from recent rain, wanders along the south side of the creek. Tall oaks border the path. Skirts of bright green moss adorn the trunks.
Above me, the canopy is a clutter of empty branches. Small birds flit and fidget among the barren trees. Light filters through conifers on the hillside above me. The creek below tumbles forward, singing its tune to the rhythm of gravity.
I mosey along. The breeze doesn’t penetrate the shelter of the forest. The path is wide, worn smooth by other walkers. I ascend a short steep rise. There, I encounter an elderly woman walking with her dog. We exchange greetings. She remarks her intent to turn around at this point. We walk the same direction.
The dog, a mutt of some sort, is friendly. I scratch her ears and pat her shoulders. The lady introduces her as Tara. “A rescue,” she says. “maybe 12 years old.” She pauses, then adds, “I don’t think I’ll get another once she passes.” The candid comment surprises me. I don’t respond, but I concur with her judgment. I came to a similar conclusion when my last cat died over a year ago. We can age out of time and energy that an animal companion deserves. Pragmatism argues for attention.
We three walk together, enjoying the quiet of the January morning. Further up the trail, we meet another walker, a middle aged woman. Hood River is a small town. She and Tara’s owner are casual acquaintances. We say our hellos. We chat.
Someone acknowledges the upcoming holiday for Martin Luther King. I’d forgotten that, given the attention awarded to the presidential inauguration on the same day. The irony of those two events occurring simultaneously hangs above the conversation.
Comments are withheld. We are three strangers under a winter sky sharing a moment. We tacitly agree not to tarnish that moment. Our meet and greet ends. We move on to our near futures. Tara is led away on her leash. I imagine a cup of tea for her owner and a nap for both. The other lady is going to a book group in a neighborhood at the trail’s end. I return the way I came.
This portion of the Indian Creek Trail is about three miles out and back. The terrain is not challenging. The music of water in the creek bed plays a peaceful tune. It meanders on its way to merge with the Hood River then the Columbia and, eventually, the Pacific Ocean. Yes, a good day for a winter walk.
Have a listen to Zen Creek.
Good Blood, Bad Blood 
You are so lucky to be close to such a great trail. Love your descriptions! My husband and I frequently lament about “our last cat,” “THIS is our last car!” etc.. I agree but then I feel some kind of way…. this is the circle of life. But for now, we keep walking and enjoying the beauty of this earth.
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Hi John- loved the solitude of your recent post “Zen Creek”. Reminds of some of the lyrics from the song “Sound of Silence”. “ In restless dreams I walked alone, streets of cobblestone, neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp,and my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light, that split the night, and touched the sound of silence”. Hope you are well and I look forward to Opening Day 2025 for the Lost Balls. Randy
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Hey Randy. Thanks for checking in. You have a musical soul. 🎻 🎼
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Beautiful post! We need lots of Zen moments like your writing gives us. More time with nature might help get us through the weird, challenging times ahead. Less tv news, more walks where we may meet a friendly dog (and her person) or hear “the music of water in the creek bed.” Merci beaucoup, John.
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Hi Ginger. It’s the little things: the music of water, dappled sunlight, and strangers who say, “Hello.”
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The sound of water flowing, whether stream or river, always me of Yosemite, where you and I first met.
I recently saw a Mary Oliver quote:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
You’ve done all three. You do all three in every one of your posts.
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Hey Gary. Thanks for the comment. Yes, we met in wonderland. 😎
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Moseying through reading your post is like sauntering in the wild, get to relaxing, enjoy the scenery through your descriptions, and there’s always the chance to learn something. Through my Dad and his initial concerns whether or not to get a new dog years ago, he too mentioned what you said: “We can age out of time and energy that an animal companion deserves. Pragmatism argues for attention.” This time reading the words, I understand and agree with it (although my Dad ended up getting another dog, and she has been perfect dog 🐾).
And another piece of wisdom, which if there is a mood prevailing in the world today, you captured it with the line: “… three strangers under a winter sky sharing a moment. We tacitly agree not to tarnish that moment.” It is strange living in such a world 🙃. Good news, springtime is around the corner 😊.
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