Boots

I have had these hiking boots since I lived in Colorado. They have climbed many peaks - big ones, over 14,000 feet. They have been covered in the red earth of Moab and Sedona, and the rich soils of the Rocky and Appalachian mountains. I believe I wore them every day for a year when I was living a nomad's life. Today they are covered with mud from Breakheart Reservation, which is about 100 yards across the road I live on. 

My dad used to call me his "little mountain goat" for how sure-footed I was - always scrambling up things and way ahead of the group. Now I limp along slowly picking my way up and down rocky trails - I mourn my strength and balance sometimes (every day), but I am grateful for what I still have. 

I've been in a bit of funk for the past few days. My walks around the nearby ponds have started to feel repetitive and populated - that sounds jerky, but I have been longing for solitude in nature. Today I found some.

There seem to be more people out driving around today - I am sensing a shift in the commitment to stay home and isolate, or maybe it's my own restlessness.