The path

There is a path at the edge of the village in Valais that runs through the woods. The birdsong I had heard on a spring hike there was gone, with the exception of a persistent woodpecker, and that really isn’t song. The ripple of waterfall and the clang of cowbells from the valley below were unchanged.

The fallen leaves crunched under foot omitting a dry clean smell. The sun dappled the rocks and trees. Although most of the hike was solitary, I passed a couple with two huskies and a grandmother and granddaughter who were giggling as they tried to catch each others’ shadows. Like Robert Frost, I did come across a fork in the path, but I took the one more trodden, because the other involved a lot more climbing. Sometimes lazy beats ambitious.

Walks like this heighten my senses, smell, sound, feel reminding me once again how truly blessed I am with the life I lead.