Boardwalk in
Just sharing a quiet little post today. In fact it’s so quiet—shhhh–that I’m turning the comments off. The better for us all to hear the birdsong. The quiet of the forest. The hush of nature’s footsteps all around.
I found myself driving home from town this morning and then–with no forethought–the new Malibu turned left past Curwood Park into the woods. It appeared that, yes indeed, we were headed for Soup’s Loop.
You may quietly be pondering what “Soup’s Loop” might be. It’s a .67 mile walk through the woods just outside our fine village of L’Anse. Soup’s Loop ventures off to the right. Another woods-walk called “Cathy’s Path” of .53 miles meanders back toward the park to the left.
I’ve walked on Cathy’s Path before. Some of you may recall Cathy. She worked with my husband at the local paper and died one afternoon at her desk in February, 2013. I wrote a broken-hearted post back then called When Death unexpectedly asks for the last dance…
All photos taken on my cell phone and remain unedited, alas
The good citizens of our town created Cathy’s path to honor her love of nature…and Soup’s Loop was created simultaneously in honor of another still-living beloved local fella (who was in my yoga class last fall and winter before COVID abruptly shut the doors). They call him Soup, and I honestly can’t remember his “real” name right now, although his wife attended a lovely piano-duet Christmas party with us in December. We don’t attend many parties–err, hardly any!–so this stands out in my mind.
Light dancing on thimbleberry leaves
Mid-winter a local group hosted a snowshoe and/or ski (or walk) down Cathy’s Path and Soup’s Loop. Barry took pictures for the paper and I stood around talking with red-cheeked and happy-looking friends and acquaintances who had just traversed around the trails in the snow.
I kinda wished I’d gone.
Thought: “You know, one of these days, I have to hike Soup’s Loop. Just to see.”
“Barry,” I said, “we should hike Soup’s Loop one of these days.”
It’s six months later and we still haven’t hiked Soup’s Loop, so the Malibu decided to take things into her own hands–wheels–this morning.
Thimbleberry leaves bigger than your hand
You know the feeling when you enter a cathedral? There’s a hush in the atmosphere. A feeling in bones or breast that feels tangibly awed. Sacred.
Nature can feel that way, too. In the play of dark and light, shadows and sunlight. Old-growth trees can simultaneously dwarf our humanity and open our spirit to something larger than ourselves.
It’s like holding your breath while still breathing.
It’s like being–thesaurus, help me out–marveled, awe-struck, fascinated, astonished, astounded, lost in wonder, wide-eyed, agape, wordless, silenced.
So these are a few words to describe something truly wordless, a feeling where the human nervous system just says “ahhhh”.
Where rainbow light shines into our day and we relax deeply.
Wishing you many quiet walks in woods, through meadows, along lakes.
Shhhh, just breathe it in, my dears.
Lake Superior Spirit 