It's been almost two weeks ago now that my husband surprised me with a whirlwind trip to Lost Lake.  The occasion was our 16th anniversary, and it was the best possible gift he could have given me to be back in our favorite forest together for a few hours.  We got up at 4 and were out the door a little before 5.  The sun rose in the rearview mirror as we made our way to Hood River.  We stopped in town at our usual coffee shop and then drove ever closer to Mt. Hood, past apple orchards and homesteads, until the the ferns, the scent of woodsmoke, and the tall trees, all of which I have missed so much, finally surrounded us.  We were home.  

Home:  A place where something flourishes, is most typically found, or from where it originates.    

But also:  Him.  Home can also be a person, and he is my home.  "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."  ~ Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights.

slow gold


Last Saturday morning, my husband and my sister kayaked around the lake as I tried to escape the heat on the trail through the trees.  Not much has escaped the heat here, though.  Some bright green grass is still around, and tree leaves are mostly still green (though losing their brilliance), but the rest of the landscape is slowly beginning to turn gold.  Sun-bleached and dry, but still present, still an element of the composition. 

The happiness I feel walking a trail alone, exploring and taking slow time to listen and observe, is immeasurable.  Solitude in nature.  Feeling alone but not alone.  Feeling the waxing and waning life forces all around - some seen, some unseen.  
by mlekoshi