Pivot!

I took a long walk this morning along a nature trail that I had no idea existed in Elk Grove. That's not actually 100% true. I did know there was a trail. Somewhere. But I had never taken the time to find out where the trail starts, or what its route is, where it goes, how long it is.

This morning I needed a walk somewhere other than the neighborhood walk I've been taking for what now feels like a gazillion years. The quarantine, the world in general, was crushing in on me. I needed new surroundings.

I found them.

The trail winds along a creek that could be a river in its current state but is probably definitely more of a creek in drier, hotter months. Right now, it's beautiful. I actually stopped early on in my walk to take a picture of some bushes poking out farther down the stream because they were shimmering. The leaves were blowing in the wind and the sun was hitting them so perfectly that they looked like green glitter catching the light. I walked along the path towards the bushes to get a closer look and found that the nearer I got, the less they sparkled. The leaves looked completely different close up--not at all shimmery, but almost like they were dancing in unison. Not less beautiful. Just differently beautiful, still fluttering hypnotically in the breeze.

It made me think about the importance of looking at things from different viewpoints. It's so easy, and maybe human nature, to be comfortable with what we know and what we expect. And while nothing can ever look exactly the same if we change our position and view it from a different angle, a new perspective can sometimes reveal possibilities we never knew existed.

I continued my exploration, absolutely reveling in the briskness of the morning air. It was bracingly cold. But it felt bracingly mind-clearing. Not a cloud in the sky. Got the sun in my eyes. (if you're between 50 and 60 I'm really, really sorry but also, you finished off that verse, didn't you?)

I meandered along, away from the creek, through a kind of meadow (still on the trail--I wasn't tramping through virgin flora). As I walked south, I noticed some bright yellow flowers on the side of the path, all vibrant and upright and fully facing east toward the ascending sun. They had positioned themselves for maximum benefit. I had no doubt that if I returned to the area later in the day, those same flowers would still be vibrant and upright but would be fully facing the west toward the setting sun. Smart.

First of all, great scene. So memorable and so perfectly done.
We don't give Ross nearly enough credit for his wisdom.
As I was looking at those flowers, I thought to myself that nature (like Ross) knows how and when to pivot.

Flowers have figured out how to face the light, even though the light is a moving target. That's a great lesson (face the light--don't go toward the light... that's a whole different thing and I think we all saw Poltergeist).

I know that I need reminding sometimes (often) that I am not stationary. I don't have to just give in to the couch not seeming to fit up the stairs or the quarantine feeling like it's closing in around me. I can change perspectives. I can turn myself toward whatever is throwing off better light.

I can pivot.