It happened because I took a walk. I love taking walks. Okay, not all of the time. On days when the pavement is slick with ice and snow and I have to watch my step more than the surrounding scenery, I’d rather stay inside with a cup of cocoa and read. No, not newspapers. I used to like to do that, and did so every day. But, well, no comment other than to say I cancelled my subscription. Too bad. I really did like to read it – except the middle of the business section with all the letters and numbers that I didn’t quite follow. Not that. But the rest of it. But not now. Now I can’t even make a cup of cocoa. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

Today, however . . . today the temperature could be best described as balmy. Balmy! That’s not easy to find near the close of October, but it was today. Though many had fallen, some leaves still clung for their beautiful red, orange, and yellow lives to the branches. You had to admire their will to live. And the sky was a faint blue: the color of my grandma’s eyes after her cataract surgery.

I waved to my neighbor, Merl, as I started out. He sat on his porch nearly every day and just watched. I don’t really know what he watched, but he seemed to find enough to interest him. Maybe he saw more than the average person. Who knows. He waved back as he took a sip of his lemonade.

I needed this. Our town’s water system was low, and we were on a strict limit – even to drink. Weather pundits claimed we’d been in a year-long drought. Unlike some fortunate souls who lived out of town, I had no cistern. The whole situation made me not only thirsty, but more than a little grumpy.

I’d passed the local grocery store (there was a line inside, each customer holding a 12 pack of Dasani or one of its poorer cousins), and was approaching the church on the corner, when the largest raven I’ve ever seen swooped so close I automatically ducked. In fact, I dived so low, my hands slammed on the pavement and I skinned the palm of one hand. As I brushed myself off, and was deciding whether to turn home or continue on, I noticed a small envelope on the ground just where the raven had flown so low.

I retrieved it and opened the flap. Inside was a crude map and one word: Walk. My eyebrows shot up and I thought, Well that decides that. I followed the trail as far as I could understand from the crudely drawn map. I glanced up at the sky. Still faint blue with no cloud in sight.

I came to the edge of a stream. It was nothing remarkable, burrowing a shallow channel, often more of a muddy trail than legitimate stream depending on the amount of rain. That was probably why hardly anyone ever paid attention to it.

That is where the map ended. I was more than a little puzzled and looked around. What had I been thinking? An envelope dropped by a raven was certainly nothing to waste my day over, was it? But I had. And by now it was no longer balmy. I was getting chilled. To the bone. It no longer felt like the close of October, but instead, the edge of November. I scolded myself as I pulled my thin sweater close and started home.

As I walked, I pondered over the events of my day. My mind wandered over the non-descript scene the map had led me to. With a start I stopped, then turned and hurried back to the stream.

Sometimes it’s the things we don’t see that are the very thing we need to notice. My mind and memory finally saw what my blind eyes had missed. The stream that was more of a muddy trail held a treasure greater than gold!

How can a stream be muddy in a drought? I dug until my fingernails were caked with mud, and there it was: An underground spring, small and beautiful!

The next day, though it was chilly, I decided to sit on my porch and just watch for awhile. I looked over and raised my cup of cocoa to Merl as he raised his glass to mine.

Image: steve-harvey-iwyQO0FrTsY-unsplash.jpg; kitera-dent-ibc5gj5x4hU-unsplash-scaled.jpg

Clouds began to gather so innocently that I didn’t notice, but by the time an hour had passed and I was beginning to think it was time to go back, the sky was filling up and the innocent fluffy clouds I hadn’t at first noticed were turning a bit gray. After another rambling speech into my walkie that resulted in nothing but silence from wherever the other one was (probably now deceased in a junk yard), I hurried back on the path and made pretty good time. I congratulated myself on recognizing an unusual bush I’d taken note of when I passed it before, but, weirdly enough, spied another one just like it at the bend of my track. I retraced my steps and noticed another unusual bush that apparently wasn’t quite as unusual as I had originally believed.

It was then that I felt a few pangs of doubt, then a few drops of rain, then a sudden downpour. Looking left and right, I ran into the torrent and noticed a fuzzy shadow ahead. As I approached it, I was grateful to make out a cave of sorts; not a huge one by any means; rather, a sort of respectable indentation into rock. Breathing heavily, I reached it and slumped onto its floor, my back to the wall. If daylight held, maybe I could find my way back after the rain lifted.

It was beginning to grow a bit chilly and I thought of how the weather in these parts can drop fairly quickly this time of year. Tamarac National Wildlife Refuge seemed to me now to be not the 43,000 acres of fresh air and sunshine I had entered, but 43,000 acres of not so great possibilities. Pheasants, then fox, then bears traipsed through my thoughts. I closed my eyes in an effort to rest and regroup, and when I opened them, there were two strangers standing in front of me. I hadn’t heard a thing.

I believe it was at this point I was concluding it was time to panic, not that I had to think it through. Some things in life come as naturally as – well let’s just say prayer in a foxhole and leave it at that.

“I told you I heard something!” the woman said, giving the follow beside her a friendly nudge.

He looked at her with delight and disbelief, and they started muttering things I couldn’t understand. I caught odd-sounding words and phrases like torsion field along with algebraic-sounding back and forth chatter that I didn’t care to dissect.

Soon the man looked at me and asked about my half of a two-way radio I was holding. I told him it was a birthday gift and how, with good intentions, my friend had remembered the “radio” part of a comment I’d once made about wanting to go to Radio City Music Hall. The two friends apparently thought it extremely funny and I was relieved enough at their demeanor that I chuckled along with them.

“Would you?” he asked.

“Would I what?”

“Like to go to a concert?”

I shrugged my shoulders. He couldn’t be serious. We were in the middle of nowhere and the temperature was dropping. “I guess.”

“It is her birthday, after all,” the woman remarked.

“Hm. Seems like a fair exchange,” the man said.

The woman raised her eyebrows, but he ignored her and held out his hand.

“Mind if I look at it?”

“This?” I held out my walkie.

I can’t really tell you how it happened: Just that one minute I was sitting in a cave and the next minute I was taking in an Il Volo concert at Radio City Music Hall. Granted, I was still rather damp and underdressed (to say the least), but it was a concert I’ll never forget. The minute it ended, I found myself standing at the edge of the Tamarac National Wildlife Refuge with enough daylight left to walk back to town.

Some people use their money to travel the world. Some travel only in their imagination. Me? All I know is that one autumn evening I seem to have traded my half of a two-way radio for a concert at Radio City Music Hall, and I’m more than satisfied with the trade.

Image: pexels-brett-sayles-8170126.jpg

I was pretty sure it was time to panic. I’d exhausted all other options.

Retracing my steps? Of course, and it had made things worse. I now had no earthly idea where I was.

Praying to the Good Lord Almighty? Obviously. And we can agree He heard me. What He decided to do with the desperate request was a whole other matter. Take Jonah, for instance. I honestly don’t know if he had a wife, and I don’t suppose he made it home in time to ask her to work on those nasty whale vomit stains before they were a hopeless case (which – of course they were), but suffice it to say, the Good Lord Almighty took a different perspective than Jonah did. Of the sense I do have, it is enough to know that my perspective diverges from holy more often than not. Need I say more?

Yelling for help at the top of my lungs? Mmm. Well you have to understand it’s usually a bit complicated to take that option. After all, maybe someone kind and helpful would hear me, but then again, maybe someone unhelpful and not at all kind would hear me too. Or maybe only one of them would hear me and how would I be able to tell if the one who came was the kind person or the one who was not at all kind? Or maybe kind and unhelpful? And, in trying to be helpful, they told someone who was of the not at all kind type? You see? Things aren’t nearly as easy as one might imagine.

And believe me, I was imagining enough for you and me both. You see, it all started with a birthday present. I had years ago expressed interest in going to Radio City Music Hall (an unattainable extravagance for someone like me) and one of my friends with a long, but not terribly detailed memory made the major effort of fulfilling my dream. That is, she got the radio part right, and I had to give her major credit for that. I unwrapped one part of a two-way radio. Ahem. One. And I think it was used. No one ever claimed my friends and I were flush with cash. Every one of us was more of what you call thrifters – or, more honestly, scavengers. But I was curious, and I thought to myself that I might just find the owner of the other part of a set by walking around and speaking into my walkie every so often.

The following day was beautiful, and I was in the mood for a long autumn walk. I ended up at the edge of town and proceeded down a road where I found myself at the edge of Tamarac National Wildlife Refuge: 43,000 acres of fresh air and sunshine; and, I might add, a reasonable place someone might carry a handheld radio. I admit now that sometimes things that seem reasonable at first, don’t seem at all reasonable after awhile.

to be continued…

Image: angel-velez-bJTiBslE8RY-unsplash-scaled.jpg

They walked past the house every day at the same time: the man with green tennis shoes and the Scottie dog. He didn’t scroll through his phone like some walkers did, and the Scottie dog was content to match his master’s pace without pulling on the leash. And then one day they didn’t.

It gave the man who noticed them every day pause. He’d grown used to taking a second sip of decaf and looking up from watching the news at exactly 6:10 every evening. He barely noticed he did it. But this evening was different. This evening he noticed because the man with the green tennis shoes and the Scottie dog didn’t walk by. He put down his coffee, rose from his chair, and peered out the window; then, seeing nothing, he hurried down his front steps and looked both ways down his street. No one. Nothing.

The next night, the man took a first sip of decaf and sauntered over to the window. No reason. No man with green tennis shoes. No Scottie dog. It shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t.

The third night, the man didn’t pour a cup of coffee at all. He didn’t turn on the news. He sat on his front steps and watched the street. A neighbor slipped quietly into his driveway and tinkered on the new car he’d purchased just a month ago. Another neighbor stared blankly out her picture window, petting the cat in her arms.

The fourth night, the man gave a tentative wave to his neighbor who happened to, once again, be tinkering with his new car. The lady with the cat in her arms mistook his wave, and waved back.

The fifth night, the lady ventured into her yard – minus her cat. She set out a card table with lemonade and lemon cookies. The man tinkering on his car went over and chatted as he ate a cookie.

The sixth night, the three neighbors found themselves once again in the lady’s yard eating cookies and drinking lemonade and talking all at once. Did something bad happen to the man with the green tennis shoes? What about his Scottie dog?

More neighbors congregated on the seventh night – so much so, that the lemonade pitcher had to be refilled three times. And then – then a hush fell over the crowd as they watched the man in the green tennis shoes and his dog stroll by. He waved. They all waved back. And that, dear reader, is how a week’s vacation can help a neighborhood.

Image: pexels-ray-piedra-1456738.jpg; beverage-black-and-white-black-coffee-2360894.jpg; imagesX15DD7Q1.jpg; pexels-julia-zolotova-1320997

Rain blew through the forest as the storm tossed limbs and branches in its torrential fury. On through the night the wind blew, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled and crashed. The crack of a birch, weakened by unseen pests eating it from the inside out, reverberated over the commotion as it slammed to the ground, crushing the brush and bushes around it.

     And then – in an instant – it was over. Droplets glistened on both bough and leaf. A nearby river rushed loudly with the memory of the storm just past. A chipmunk’s bright eyes peeked out of its hiding place and a couple of deer took tentative steps nearby. And the oldest tree of the forest seemed to shake itself as the sun caressed its shadow.

It was on that night that a little girl was born. She was given all she desired and more than she needed. And she grew, through the seasons and signposts of life, diligently working toward her goals, finding beauty and glory and seeking more. Always more.

And every year she visited the forest that called to her and spent a day at the base of the old tree thinking – no, pondering – as hope and discouragement, good and evil, light and dark played tag in her soul.

And although myriad paths lay open to her, she considered prestige and power a worthy aim and chose that path which offered most and best. And she got it. For there are in life ways some do not recognize or chose to know; but for those who seek them, their allure calls clearly and relentlessly.

She attended the best schools where she learned to think in the accepted manner; not only learned, but embraced the lessons that scoffed at old wisdom and blessed those that tore its fabric. She acquired beauty at the cost of dignity, fortune at the cost of integrity, and success at the cost of legitimacy.

She followed the clear and relentless path to dark places and shadowy travelers. She made everyone around her a servant and thought of those she did not know, slaves. Others’ lives became a means to an end, and she didn’t hesitate regardless of hurt or harm her actions might cause; until life became as expendable as used package wrapping.

She gave in to gluttony, but was never satiated. Whatever of the many things she’d dreamed and worked to gain were never enough. She began to think of herself as a god, really. No one was higher or should be. She was greater than anyone! Larger than life, even bigger than creation! She had it all and would control it all, too!

And then a storm came; quietly and slowly at first, as some storms do. It continued, and disturbed her. Putting her hands over her ears, she demanded it stop. But the wind rose higher and the rain pelted harder. On through the night the wind blew, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled and crashed.

It occurred to her that the old tree beneath which she had sat and pondered and planned in her youth, and later neglected until it was forgotten, could be a shelter. Running to the forest, she looked but couldn’t find it. At last she was spent. Raging at the storm and any who had the audacity to cross her, she lay on the ground, cursing until the very end. The ground swallowed her weaselly body, and the rain washed away the filth of her life.

And the oldest tree of the forest seemed to shake itself as the sun caressed its shadow.

Images: pexels-pixabay-53459-; pexels-nejc-kosir-338936.jpg; pexels-kyle-killam-106006.jpg; pexels-veeterzy-38136.jpg

It wasn’t that he was the most handsome man she’d ever met nor even the most quick-witted. But he was kind. She’d witnessed it whenever she saw him with other people or animals or birds. And there was something in his eyes that indicated he was thinking beyond what was heard or spoken. She couldn’t say what it was that kept her thinking of him even when he was out of sight, why she thought of him as she left the office each day and when she got home, nor the reason she saw him in her dreams.

The problem, of course, was that he had no idea she existed. None! She sat at the same spot every day, reading while she ate her favorite lunch – apple slices dipped in caramel, a favorite because when she was a little girl, her grandfather had made it their very own treat, and memories of love and home rushed in whenever she ate them.

And the man passed the very spot every day, chatting with a friend or looking at his phone or simply whistling. Today was no different. He’d passed without noticing. Enough! She gathered her things and slid them into her bag. She wasn’t someone who approached attractive strangers nor any stranger, for that matter. It just wasn’t in her. Maybe one day she’d find someone like him; someone kind who had more within him than he let anyone know. Today would be the last day, she decided. No more pining. No more wishing. She’d take lunch at her desk and let go of thoughts of which only she was aware.

And she did. And it was boring. Oh, she made mindless conversation with co-workers who took lunch at their desks, too. She read a book, but it felt flat. She distracted herself with Pinterest. But she missed her little spot near the fountain outside her office building.

Depressed. That’s what she felt, though nothing had really been lost other than an intangible hope of something more. She still passed by the fountain after work. At least there was that, but she did not sit. She did not read. And something in her heart broke a little. Until.

Until a week had gone by. And there, as she passed the fountain after work, waiting for her, was the not most handsome man holding something out to her.

Apple slices dipped in caramel.

Images: pexels-john-finkelstein-1630588.jpg; pexels-fabio-lima-770225-scaled.jpg