“For every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth and reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.”
~ Henry Thoreau
This Infidel was certainly feeling the need for a crusade. Weeks, if not months of self-imposed confinement (difficult to make travel a priority in the midst of selling one home and settling into another) had left me feeling restless, at least on the days when I wasn’t feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. The winter months had simply added insult to injury.
It was time to set aside the purging, the packing, the painting, and all the people parading through what had once been our family home for the last 20 years.
It was time to reconquer this Holy Land, time to crusade for that which nurtures the heart and mind and soul, ergo my wanderlust. It was time for a walk in the woods, time for some fresh air to clear the mental fog.
The price was right, the weather just as suitable, albeit a bit windy. Then again, it was March. And so off we went, just me and my shadow, going forth into the wild to reclaim this Holy Land from the hands of Infidels. I’ve been called worse.
Alas, my crusade wasn’t as wild as it was spooky. Then again, I’ve always been one for a vivid imagination.
And you thought those were fluffy clouds gracing an azure blue sky.
Imagine bare old trees howling in the wind like a chorus of banshees heralding the death of another lost soul. The woods came alive with the sorrowful sound carried high along the treetops as the winds of change encouraged all to give up the ghost of winter.
These trees weren't giving up anything but spooky!
Long shadows of doubt on the path beneath my feet made it clear that more than spring was lurking in these lone woods.
Ever see the movie, "What Lies Beneath" with Harrison Ford and Michelle Pfeiffer? Spooky!
I picked up the pace, just me and my shadow, circling a placid lake I suspected was home to a giant anaconda or a hungry crocodile (probably both) poised for a quick bite of breakfast.
Maybe it was me, but up close the trees looked poised to grab any and all unsuspecting crusaders.
I mean, really, the signs were all there, at least eerily so for one Infidel of a crusader. There were no birds singing, no geese honking, no flowers rioting on this otherwise beautiful midmorning day; only a fierce wind, hundreds of skeletal trees, and an equal number of foreboding shadows.
I confess, I spotted these frogs croaking last fall; too cold for frogs in early March. Just work with me.
Oh, wait! I did see a few frogs croaking (under the circumstances, better the frogs croaking than yours truly).
Truly, I've been cooped up far too long; and clearing the mental fog will be an ongoing crusade.
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Truly, I've been cooped up far too long; and clearing the mental fog will be an ongoing crusade.
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