There have been NO MUSHROOMS in Nanaimo so far this fall. With failing hope on my walk today I wandered from time to time off the trail, poking mournfully at the ground with my walking stick. Eventually I gave up and decided to just enjoy the walk. As I came around one curve in the path I stopped and looked at this scene:

That the last red path

A post shared by Richard Powell (@stillinthestream) on

Something in the way the branches filled up the space with horizontal lines, the autumn light, late in the day, and the deep reassuring stillness caused a sort of mental pop in my head. I felt it like a knot un-knotting. Pop, un-knot.

I was suddenly full of a warm shy contentment angling up towards joy at the edges. I smiled. It has been a very long time since such a feeling has come to me. I carried on down the trail, swinging my stick and breathing in the green smelling air, lungs not big enough to take in as much as I would like, shoulders not broad enough to throw back on my spine like a devil may care mendicant; but certainly I had knees enough to saunter and lips to whistle a gentle tune into the silent tree space, where pips of little brown creepers came back to me as a kind of distant echo.

Posted by Richard

writer | canoeist | photographer | empath My highest value is beauty. I seek it in nature, ideas, and people. My second highest value is truth. I seek it in thinking, relationships, and perception. I trust the great traditions, science, and I study religion, literature, and art tuned as they are for the heart. I appreciate the sparks of genius that come to all who think and question and ponder. It remains strangely evident -- the truth sets us free.

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