Contentment

This morning I took the dog on our normal “long” walk, since we were able to for the sunrise. He was besides himself with happiness, as it was our first real walk together since my injury. He pulls when he gets excited or spots something that he wants to investigate more closely, and that was uncomfortable/mildly painful toward the ends of the walk. Other than that, it was nice, and the morning seemed to be nice, and I decided I wanted to walk for real, for myself, by myself, and so, I did. Easily and carefully, and without the aid of pain killers and without the aid of a back brace. Hurray!

Clouds and fog, heavy light mist (I don’t know what else to call it. It was a light yet *thick* mist) and quite Sunday streets. I meandered to the river, to my favorite spot, and decided upon reaching it that my favorite favorite spot was not accessible. The ground was wet (see heavy light mist), the spot is a bit down hill from the path, and my back is scary, and so I was lame and sat on the bench provided by the park. I watched ducks and geese and crows and a blue heron and some Western grey squirrels. One crow in particular hung out with the ducks for a while, and then wadded into the river up to his chest, splashed around for a bit, soaked for a bit, and then wadded out to dry. Dreams of being a duck? He was adorable. The two Western Greys that I saw did not see me at first, despite the fact that they were cavorting on the tree right next to my bench. One scampered up to my shoe before it saw me, and then it scolded me soundly before scampering away. His friend came down the tree to hover over me and scold me as well. “How DARE you scare us you lumbering human?!”

And then, I spent a lot of time just watching the water travel it’s course. Because Poseidon was adamant years ago that I not be dependent upon *things* (things including landscape) to be able to touch upon our connection, going to the river does not make my ability to feel him stronger. The ocean does, but other waterways seem to instead simply make my ability to be in that between state easier/stronger. And with the running rivers, this generally means that stories pour through me. This happened today. I’m awash with more tales to tell, continuations, new stories, remembering older stories. A Lady of the Water came out of the river today to speak to me, and I’m thinking back to the Nixie of Amazon Creek, and her daughter. I met a fairy visiting the grave of a friend, and I was told about how to find fairy cemeteries. The Crow Nurse came and hinted that maybe her story isn’t completely told yet. And, of course, Thistle showed up to remind me that I have obligations waiting for after I finish Born From Flame. I considered: can Water be a muse?

I had a moment, on the way home, of guilt. Shouldn’t I be awash in Poseidon’s presence, when I’m that close to moving water? Shouldn’t I be lost in him, in his nearness, in his presence? I walked there having thoughts of making the Sunday morning walk a tradition, down to the water in honor of him, and I may, I might. But once I get there, there is so much noise vying for my attention, and I’m me, I am as I am, so I sit and I let the stories wash into me and through me. They aren’t all necessarily told to be written; some just want to be heard.

The guilt doesn’t stay. It can’t. It is based in fear that has, when I stop and think, when I put my mind to our past, our relationship, his teachings and guidance in my life, absolutely no ground in which to find purchase, no way of taking root. I am here to hear these stories, because I can. I am here to share those that I can share, because I can. This was true before my dear god found me, and I’m not sure that it isn’t part of *why* he found me.

It was a beautiful walk. And I am home and my legs are all, eh? but my back is only a little uncomfortable. I will take that pain medicine now, just in case, but this walk may become a thing.

How amazing, these bodies. How amazing, these spirits. Hail, hail, a hundred thousand times, hail.

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