Hike 36 and the Yarn of Pearl

As work came to an end, I faced a question with which I find myself daily confronted. It is a question that has broad implications. We constantly strive onward, looking towards the future and hoping to move on to something better and more desirable than was previously had. At the close of each action, we stand suspended in a momentary, fearful, meaningless state and ask ourselves, “What now?”

Instead of surrendering to the building existential angst, I decided this particular day to continue moving. After all, why should life end with the close of work?  I typically drive to Spencer Butte and am left with an evening to do with what I please. An empty evening hardly sounded desirable, and so I set out from my apartment, determined to walk until the sun set and the very soles of my feet burned bright and continued to blaze a path.

I approached the swiftly setting sun and found myself utterly changed into fire.

I walked and walked and passed from rural to urban. The world is filled with bees. They stare, they hide, they lick. I’ve always been wary of their presence, but have lately found them to be agreeable companions. So engrossed are they in their work that they hardly seem to notice me. I present to you yet another black-and-yellow friend. I hope you’ll not find their continued appearance tiresome.

Though I admire the presence of the bees, I find their intensity exhausting. The mien of the ladybugs refreshed my buzzing mind with calm. Nature seems to have a way of balancing. She carefully arranges her compositions to keep from wearing out our eyes and ears.

I traveled the Ridgeline Trail; I summited Spencer Butte. I continued through the streets and stopped by the house of my parents before continuing onward. “I had nothing better to do,” I told them. My mother replied with disbelief, wishing she had the same luxury. I realized as I headed towards home that my comment was deceiving. I made it sound as though I had no other responsibilities, when in truth we all simply make time for the things most important to us. The tub needed to be cleaned, the dishes were building, I’ve been intending to finish reading a novel I started several months ago, and dinner needed to be prepared. All of these things are worthy of my attention, but we must indulge in the activities that renew and refresh our minds.

Give me your answer true.

In the end I returned home, having traveled perhaps 16 miles. Imagine how far I might have gone if my days weren’t filled with work.

“The distance is thirty miles; the fare ninety cents. That is almost a day’s wages. I remember when wages were sixty cents a day for laborers on this very road. Well, I start now on foot, and get there before night; I have travelled at that rate by the week together.

You will in the mean while have earned your fare, and arrive there some time to-morrow, or possibly this evening, if you are lucky enough to get a job in season. Instead of going to Fitchburg, you will be working here the greater part of the day.

And so, if the railroad reached around the world, I think that I should keep ahead of you; and as for seeing the country and getting experience of that kind, I should have to cut your acquaintance altogether.”*

The spider holds a Silver Ball.

*Henry David Thoreau (Walden)