Tucker and I have spent a lot of time—one may even estimate years—in the Bay area. So eventually, we’ll have to do some of the same trails again. But it’s doesn’t mean it’s the same ol’, same ol’. A trail is more than a path on land; it’s the wind, the heat of the sun, the shadows on a full moon night, the wildflowers in full bloom, the autumn leaves just turning red… all of which make each hike a different experience.
And so our return to La Honda Open Space since our last visit in 2020 was indeed different.
The sun shone bright in a cloudless sky as we trekked across the meadows.
And so our return to La Honda Open Space since our last visit in 2020 was indeed different.
The sun shone bright in a cloudless sky as we trekked across the meadows.
The ocean was a steady blue line across the western horizon.
The rolling hills uninhabited by man stretched on as far as the eye could see. It felt as if Tucker and I were alone in this great big world with Nature, just the three of us.
And that is why I go to the wilds: to leave the humans behind and commune with all the others who have been here far longer than us. I take my canine partner with me so he can have his own experience, most likely much more in depth than mine, as his senses pick up so much more than mine.
I enjoy walking a new trail, experiencing the newness of a place we’ve never been, but there’s something just as rewarding returning to an old haunt to see how different it is… or perhaps more accurately, how different I am now. Is it Nature that changes or our own perspective? Both evolve over time and can change with the winds, so every moment is new.
Returning to Half Moon Bay only a few days later, the cliffs and meadows do not seem much different since last we were there, but the angle of the sun, the height of the wildflowers, the visitors to this place are not the same as they were the last time we were there.
Looking at the photos from the day, this one reminded me of a painting I did as a child. My mother collected my scribblings (as moms do so diligently). One was a page of Blue. When I was older, looking through the scrapbook, she told me I liked to take one color and paint the whole page right off the edges. (Boundaries—physical and metaphorical—have never deterred me.) Looking at the page of Blue, I see the variations, much like this photo: the ripples of blue sea and the pale blue sky and the grey blue of the clouds exhaled from the sea.
I wondered if some subconscious part of me saw this in my mind’s eye in some distant future and poured it onto the page with the limited skill of a child. There is a theory that past, present, and future are layered on top of one another; and our future can bleed back into our present, and affecting decisions that make that future happen.
But that’s all hypothetical. There is very little proof of how reality actually works. But perhaps we don’t need to know how it works. Perhaps just appreciating the beauty of it all is all we need. It’s certainly is enough for me when I’m in places like these.
RSS Feed