to be still

"The key to reintegration is to take it slowly. On your arrival home take time to be still. Resist the urge to hurl yourself into the midst of where you left off. take time to unpack mentally as well as physically. wait a few days before you begin to tell everyone about your travels, giving your spirit time to absorb all that has happened and to make sense of it within the context of your everyday life."

It's like the setting summer sun blew a kiss to these forests, showering them in hues of yellow, bronze, and amber. Yesterday morning, my early jet-lag morning, I ran towards the sunrise, seeing Hamilton in it's glorious dawn splendour from high on the escarpment trail. 

I followed a side path to see the sun rise, filtered through the mist-wrapped explosion of late-October colours. To my left, I could make out three does hidden in the woods. As I stood there watching, my jaw dropped open as I beheld a large tawny buck step out of the brush, peer at me at length from beneath his perfect rustic crown, and regally turn to stride away. Later, I stood motionless again on a yellow carpet of leaves, observing (what I think was) a rough-legged Hawk perching on a low branch. Squirrels, chipmunks, blue-jays, and dozens of birds that I can't begin to name - the whole forested world was irrevocably alive this morning, and I felt blessed to have stumbled in to it's daily sunrise celebration. When I left the wooded escarpment trail, I truly felt like I was stepping out of a forest-cloaked wardrobe, back in to the rest of my day. 

Good morning to you, too, Canada.

My favourite days abroad were the days I saw both sunrise and sunset, convinced that I couldn't have lived more fully as I had that day. Aching for some sense to be made out of all the experiences and information stored in my mind, I sat on a stone step above Webster's falls last night, watching the setting sun dip below the horizon.

"After all, the real journey is the one that begins when you start living your transformation. We go, only to return and begin again."

(Sally Welch, from Making a Pilgrimage)