More Sky than Wind

 In every walk no matter how pleasant there comes at least one moment when the thought of turning back rather than carrying on occurs. Walking with friends means the decision is negotiated; walking on my own means something else determines the roll of the dice. This morning's walk is pleasant in its familiarity, but the cold wind prompts re-thinking. It is a three-layer cold. My sturdy layers of windproof nylon overtrousers and thermal leggings and thinsulate lined gloves and a beanie under the hood of my anorak canot cope with the ancient wind that finds any weak spot in my latter-day armamentarium.

My windproof trousers keep the wind out, but, perhaps out of spite, the wind leaves its chill behind. I can feel my legs reddening. I pull on another layer for my head and remember a cousin who said the best way to deal with cold is not to get cold in the first place. He admitted to wearing ladie's tights underneath his gear on a fishing boat. He is the kind of bloke whose choice of wardrobe would not be challenged even among what he described as 'rough characters.'

The advantage of solo walking is that my mind can wander while my feet keep their own pace. I notice the snow on the verge. If I were a girl back in Indiana I'd be disappointed in it. It has gone over to ice--little tiny ice cubes rather than soft flakes suitable for snowballs. It is also the kind of precipitation that would ruin the ice on our skating pond so that instead of gliding, we'd chunter along.  I had to be very careful on such ice that the little edges of my blades didnt catch and send me headlong onto the ice. More than once my brother picked me up from the ice and chided me at the same time he brushed off the snow and the hurt. 

I've climbed the second hill on my little walk toward the loch before I realise that somewhere/when I decided to carry on walking. I was reminded that we have more sky than wind. The big sky that shelters over us--whether the long black of a cold night, the pearly grey of loose cloud cover, or those rare blue sky days--encourages the keeping on not only of our feet but also of our heart and imagination. 

And so on this eve of Christmas, 3 three days past the shortest day, may you find your way to keeping on wherever your feet take you.