I was stunned to find the path pristine and clear as I crossed my threshold. This led me into wondering, since only a week ago it was covered in the feathers and scat of Canadian geese. But, except for a pair slowly swimming on the other side of the bridge, there were none in sight. It was curious and got me thinking.
About how the path can suddenly and unexpectedly clear and open the way for clear and unhindered movement.
I noticed the duck mama and her brood down at this end of my daily journey. Usually they are closer to the end of my walk. It had been about a week since I'd seen them and the ducklings look more like miniature ducks than like ducklings. The fuzzy down is gone and feathers have come in. Soon, they'll be off and starting their own adventures.
The air is heavy and moist today. Large droplets of water are suspended on the leaves of plants and trees lining the path and the water. Sunlight is diffuse as it passes through mist.
But it is the fragrance that is striking.
I don't recognize it, but I am lured nonetheless. It carries me into timeless presence as I walk along. It seems that no time at all goes by and I see the familiar landmarks ahead that tell me it is nearly time to turn around. Looking down, I am startled out of my reverie by feathers and shit.
It seems the threshold has moved.
And I notice that the decision to extend my distance is upon me. I've been thinking about it for a couple of weeks, but time and the lure of tasks and accomplishment always seem to pull me back from the edge and drive my turning around at the same endpoint.
I've gotten really good at recognizing a threshold though. And decision always comes with it. Go back or go forward. Stand still or step over. This is always the choice at the threshold.
I don't even think. I keep walking.
A curious thing happens as I return some time later. I pass the threshold I'd just crossed earlier in my walk and notice ahead of me a whole gaggle of geese feeding on either side of the path. As I approach, they look up and step into the path. Now normally, as people approach, they move. Adjust their foraging. Let them pass. But these seem more guardian at the gate than simple geese feeding on grass. There is something I need to see. To learn. To remember.
Thresholds move. They're unpredictable. You may think you've got it down, but life has a way of surprising you. And me. And so often, that movement propels us on to the next part of the journey. Or the path. Or our growth.
The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.
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