Sometimes, after work, if I am near some good terrain, I will hike before I return home. I hiked today. As a lifelong Greater Clevelander, I have become intimately familiar with some of this terrain. I know my hiking grounds very well and I love the majestic beauty of my little woodlands, even as they barely endure as the suburban sprawl encroaches---indeed, my woodlands are like a dollhouse version of their original selves---little miniaturized wildernesses. But I love them so.
And on so much of my favorite terrain, that I have hiked week in and week out, through all kinds of weather, I have never encountered another human being. I see plenty of animal friends to be sure, but no sign of humanity. I quite like the solitude. So much so, I have indulged in the luxury of thinking of some of these trails as at least as forgotten by time, at most as my very own.
But these trails, however well-hidden and infrequently used, are not mine alone. Today, I encountered a string of Tibetan prayer flags strung across the footpath of one of "my" secret places. Certainly, I can't go on thinking that I am alone in "my" wilderness.
And I was conflicted about this encounter.
On one hand, though mi esposo will teasingly point out that I am just a white girl from the suburbs, I sometimes feel like I have the heart of an Indian. In the Native American tradition, I don't want to meddle too much with the natural benevolence of the landscape that gives life to so many creatures, myself included. With that in mind, stringing up prayer flags looks too civilized to me...a sort of visual pollution akin to the flashing, scrolling marquees of Times Square.
On the other hand, I have a strong suspicion that the individual who strung these flags reveres the landscape as much as I do, and believes that the fluttering colors carry a blessing that settles into the surroundings. I think it might be their version of a thanksgiving.
We all understand the universe a little bit differently.
On another note, but in the same vein, I am baking potatoes for dinner and allowing each diner to individualize their 'tater. There will be plenty of steamed broccoli, good smoked cheddar, wholesome butter, Greek yogurt or sour cream, herbs, hot sauce, and more. When I tell mi esposo that we are having a vegetarian dinner, I see his face grow long. When I tell him he gets to build his own "Wendy's" potato (ah, Wendy! You gentle doyenne of fast food!), he lights up. He likes Wendy's potatoes.
We all understand the universe a little bit differently.
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