True, it wasn’t snowing, but a mantle of clouds draped the sky most of the dismal day. The sun poked its face through a tear in the blanket once or twice late in the afternoon, and that’s what pulled me out the door after 4:00pm. The sun winked through the clouds again, much higher than I imagined. (I guess the days really are getting longer!)
Hood up, sturdy shoes, warmest gloves, insulated pants. I’m ready for the River Walk, exploring a new place, a new space. I'm learning to know a river, the West Branch of the Susquehanna that winds near my home.
I pick my way along the icy trail. “No winter maintenance,” says the sign. It’s not kidding. During summer and autumn afternoons, I often met fellow travelers, but today only a few footprints are etched in the snow, and I meet no one.
I trudge, head down into the wind, checking my step counter a little too often. I'm giving no credence to the importance of "being where my feet are." Rather, I’m looking at my feet and thinking, “When will I be at the halfway point so I can turn around?”
Now that I'm looking around, I’m surprised.
It's time for me to head home too.
What a path.
Goose mess everywhere.
Ice.
Slush.
More ice.
Snow.
More goose poop.
So much poop.
And. also.
Wherever you’re walking today, in goose poop or glory (or both),
remember you’re not walking alone. Keep your eyes open for the Presence.
(And, watch your step.)