A walk in the Bosque

It was pitch black  at 6:15 and I just couldn't motivate myself to go for my walk. I can walk in the woods near work on my lunch break. Usually I go with a coworker, and we talk. On this day, he had other lunch plans, so I went by myself. It was wonderful.

As I entered the woods, I could hear a rock squirrel "chirping" repeatedly. Then I heard a bird - a black phoebe, sitting on a branch and bobbing its tail. Then I passed by an open area where the cottonwood trees had burned in a fire. it always makes me sad to see dead cottonwoods, because they are irreplaceable. They grow very fast, but don't live as long as trees like oaks and maples, and when they get old, they start shedding branches. You don't walk in a cottonwood forest in a wind storm! In order for the seeds to germinate, they have to land on flooded ground, and the Rio Grande is not allowed to flood anymore. The last big flood was in the 1940s, so most of the trees are at least 60 years old. I have really come to love these trees. I love the way their leaves dance and shimmer in the wind, and whisper to me.

After I passed the burned area, the sounds of the world began to recede, and it was just me and the woods. Suddenly, a coyote loped across the trail ahead of me. I suppose for someone who grew up here, coyotes may not be exciting, and probably are viewed as vermin, but to me they are mysterious and beautiful. They are like dogs in so many ways, but so wild at the same time. They have amazing eyes - not docile like dogs at all. I have had many amazing encounters with them and it always feels like a gift. This one melted into the trees, and after I'd gone past some bushes, I looked for him and saw him standing between the trees in the distance. We looked at each other for at least 30 seconds, before I continued walking and let him get back to his business.

Then I entered another area along the path where the droning of insects drowned out all traffic noise, no small feat since there's a road along the edge of the woods in this area. Lizards skittered among the leaves, and the path had sunflowers up to my shoulders on either side.

I crossed over an intersecting path, and suddenly I was surrounded by birds. American goldfinches flitted around me. They are no longer in their breeding colors, and are a dull yellowish tan above, but when seen from below they are very yellow. Flickers flew from tree to tree, showing off the red underside of their wings and with white patch on their rumps. One posed for me and showed me his red mustache and spotted breast. I could hear nuthatches, chickadees and bushtits in the trees. I made a mental note to myself to put my compact binoculars in the car - trying to bird watch without binoculars is very frustrating, although I'm pretty good at birding by ear in this particular habitat.

It was so peaceful among the trees, and I had it all to myself. I could still hear civilization in the distance, but I felt like I was in my own little world. It's a feeling I often have, and some of my favorite memories are of moments like this. For instance, my favorite place as a child was a large stone in a field near my grandparent's weekend cottage. I would sit on the stone, and I could hear faint noises from the house, but I was all by myself. it felt very peaceful and safe. And I used to love to sit by a tidal inlet on a bay and watch the tides turn, while listening to the cars crossing the wooden bridge to the beach in the distance. They were all going to sit together on a beach, and I had my own private little paradise that most people in that town didn't know existed, but somehow the noise of the cars on the bridge in the far distance was comforting. And there's a particular place in the woods near my house like that. I walk to it on a bike trail, and then drop down a small hill into the woods, and suddenly everything changes. You can still hear the noises from the bike trail, but when you drop down, you suddenly hear birds singing all around you, and you are in a world of many different shades of green. It feels magical. It was especially magical when there was a nest with three fluffy white hawk chicks there.

Now that walking in the morning is becoming less of a possibility, I need to work at keeping moments like these in my life - they are a big part of what keeps me centered.