My Morning Walk

There are two ways to travel to the farm house from my tent. I can take the service road through the meadow to the paved road. Or, walk the meandering path through the beaver swamp and emerge onto the pondside strawberry fields. I prefer the meandering path. There seems to be something more beautiful and alive when I go this direction. This morning I awoke to the 5am birds and the morning wind. The wind wanted me to get up. It kept rustling my tent. It pulled on my rain fly and threatened to remove the delicate silver stakes from the soft earth.
I was happy to be curled up in my covers. I didn't want to get up. Besides, the sky was gray and fluffy with clouds. I thought it might rain. But, the wind had other plans, it pushed the clouds away to reveal a bed of blue sky. I struggled up as the wind continued to rustle and jostle my home. I stepped out of my tent and felt shocked by the beauty and balminess of outside. The meadow grasses swayed lazily back and forth, the leaves shimmered like water and the wind danced and flitted about like a happy bird. The sun felt good.
I smiled at the day and new why it had been knocking at my door. I fastened my door closed, removed a tick from my bag and hefted my laundry onto my shoulder. Walking down the path to the swamp I couldn't help smiling at the wonderful day it was going to be. I was off to finish my essays and perhaps clean-up the wood shop. When I came to the stream the cattails looked like markers for travelers on a long journey. They appeared strong and immortal. I waved hello and said thank you to their dignified postures. I leapt across the stream and hoped not to slip. Safely on the other side I strolled through some young birches and finally emerged on the pondside fields.
The day pushed me on.