Walking Along

Walking Along

Easter Sunday, I went for a walk this bright, sunny morning here in the Northwest along the Oregon coast. 

Birds chirping—a murder of crows off in the distance raucously calling to each other. I drove or steered my man and I as we walked down one street to the next.  We walked to our little church on this Easter Sunday where the parking lot was empty in the midst of Covid 19.  We walked on.

The man and I walked by the elementary school where a reader sign proclaimed in bright letters, school closed for the rest of the year.

We walked on the back road behind the school where a lonely trillium plant blossomed with its singular white flower.  On the mossy bank where water steeped slowly, little yellow flowers close to the ground bloomed.  Yet, we walked on. 

To where the pavement ended, we walked.

The gravel left puffs of dust at our feet. In the quiet, the crunching of stones loud beneath our shoes.

We continued arm in arm—happy for the touch, the comfort of  one another in the cold morning where our breaths curled and gather in wisps until we reached our stopping point. To listen to silence, silence shattered by calls of birds while small insects hovered and flitted here and there.

Across the ravine, a forest thrives and for the moment so do we.