Spiritual with Metaphors – by Judith M. Keyser

Dit-dit-dit loud then softer, then dit-dit-dit loud again and then softer, a third time, dit-dit-dit loud and softer, like an elementary school hearing test, my iPhone alarm was buzzing to harshly wake me up but I enthusiastically grabbed the phone, whipped off the freshly Friday-washed sheets and popped out of bed; hastily returning them to their proper position, bed made – check.
I gathered the important items from the bedside table, my glasses, my night guard and returned them to the bathroom drawer where both have their own space in individual plastic organizers, like little vampires in their coffins, waiting for me to return for them tonight; I shut the drawer.
No need for a shower this morning, I habitually pulled back my hair with a towel and wash my face by splashing the hot running water over it while my bent body considers taking a small stretch. A soapy face is splashed with more water and then patted dry with the hair towel; and then wiping the sink down as well with a pink cleaning rag. My teeth are bushed with the help of a Sonic toothbrush, paste splattering over the mirror, sink, medicine cabinet like a blood spatter analysis scene out of Dexter. I too wipe down the objects hit with the pink cleaning rag.
I head to the closet, removing my top and bottom pajamas and pull on my Tough Darn hiking socks, warm sweatpants and a sports bra with breathable top and sweatshirt.
In the kitchen, I cook up oatmeal and mix it with apples and cinnamon, and eat two hard boiled egg whites from Smith Brothers Farms that were delivered a couple of days ago. I fill a Yeti with hot water, check my backpack for any additional items needed and head to the car. The blackness of these late fall mornings have yet to give way to the dawn of a glorious day ahead. I pull out of the driveway and start my long ride through the city, past the church I hear the bells toll the top of the hour and in my rear view I see the streetlights glow like symmetrically arranged fireflies. I am alone on the road as my car whirrs down the dry, empty street; something feels futuristic about it as I check the electric mileage to make sure I have enough charge for the round trip. I drive on.
Another set of hourly bells must have rung long out of my earshot as I pulled into the trailhead’s parking lot. The car’s tires crunched small pebbles until it came to a stop. I removed my sunglasses and got out of the car. I opened the hatch and pulled out my hiking boots to switch them from my sneakers; “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood” melody comes to mind, as I deeply breath the cold, fresh, conifer filled air. I bustle my pack, set my GPS and turn on my Lifeline app and break the silent wood with my rustling steps.
Methodically, each step one after another, banged my poles rhythmically, clicking against the D-rings on my backpack playing a marching tune only I could appreciate. I was alone. In thought. In person. A squirrel scurries across my path, stops as if he’s in a wedding dance circle, where he freezes, twitches, flicks his tail as to pass on to another dancer, and shuffles back to the side hidden by the rest of the onlookers. I continue on.
Solitude. A single path. A single woman. Groups of ferns flock each side of the path like spectators at a road race, each little green leaf cheering me on. The cold air cools my face and begins to warm up by the exercise. I am in my thoughts. I hear water faintly rushing, where is it going in such a hurry? The terrain grows steeper, and I reach for my poles. My breath is deep. My steps are slower.
The sun is brighter and higher now, but because of the towering Douglas firs and giant Western Red Cedars, I am a mere football in a game against the two sets of opponents. I am overshadowed but with hopes of being above the treeline soon.
The landscape changes and there is a long board walk as part of the trail which allows for my steps to pick up pace until they give way to a group of steps built into the side of the earth. I put away my poles and ascend upward. Climbing higher and higher, I hear the “forest echo with laughter” and reaching the top, it is I who has the last laugh. I have reached heaven on Earth. Looking over Bob Ross’ painted trees on a crystal blue sky day. I am home.