Sunday Morning Walk

I love Sundays, and I am a walkaholic. So, no surprise I often celebrate Sunday with an early morning stroll.

My affection for Sunday goes back to my childhood. Ideally, we kids had already completed our homework on Saturday and, after Sunday Mass, were free to jump into our play clothes and run around outside all day before joining the adults for Sunday Dinner.

This morning, after a small cup of coffee and a homemade chocolate chip cookie, I pulled on my play clothes and drove to Jordan Lake Dam to catch the sunrise. I did not start a load of laundry, or read the news headlines, or do my yoga stretches.

I called my brother, John, en route, and he helped me fiddle with my camera settings until I was able to capture what my eyes were seeing. John was a professional photographer/videographer and has long encouraged me to shoot in Manual Mode. After his coaching this morning, I believe I’ve finally stepped into my big girl shoes.

It may sound corny, but this morning I felt as holy among the autumn trees as I once did in those wooden pews beneath the stained glass windows.

And I felt darned holy back then in my single digits. As a child, I sensed the presence of  Jesus, and God the Father, and The Holy Ghost, and The Virgin Mary just as surely as I felt the pure, sun-kissed air wafting up from the Haw River today.

Sunlight must be God incarnate. Without it we are nothing. No trees, no food, no nothing. 

I never tire of golden hour when the low angle of sunlight gilds every living and non-living thing in regal holiness.

I walked out across the grasslands, the undulating trill of insects in the tall blonde grass obscuring the sound of my footsteps. At the junction, I made a left and hiked uphill, stepping over the guard rail to get an unobstructed view of the lake.

I walked up to where I usually go when I take that left, to a gate with a sign reading, “No Horses Beyond This Point.” This was my cue to turn and trot back down the hill.

As I was walking back across the grassland, I heard a helicopter coming up from the south and stood, transfixed, as it flew directly over my head.

For a moment, I considered turning away and running like Cary Grant in North by Northwest, but a microsecond later I saw that I had reflexively raised my hand in the universal, “Hey there!” salute.

I stood there feeling silly—who waves at a helicopter?—as it chugged on by, turning to watch it fly over the lake.

 

And then, it was just me and the ululating insects in the tall grass again.

The last picture I took was of a cormorant warming itself in the sun. I got in the car and went home to make blueberry sourdough pancakes with fake bacon.

Later, I mowed leaves for the compost pile. I went through my photos and started a blog post. And then I made a big pot of butternut bisque with roasted garlic and pimento peppers from our garden, seasoned with coconut milk and lemon juice to eat with Bob at the dining room table while sharing thoughts from our day.

The sun has set, my belly is full, and I have had another perfect Sunday.