Walk Time: Early Morning
Temperature: 45 degrees
Skies: Too early to tell
Steps: 4,700
I have forgotten how dark it is in the middle of the prairie once the autumnal sun slides beneath the capacious sky. As I returned last night to my room following a clergy group discussion I had to turn on the light in order to find my way into the room. I grew up in a rural area, so it's not as though I am unfamiliar with the deep darkness of night, but it has been some time since I have been without city lights and noises. Because of the way my room is situated (and the architecture of the retreat center itself) my window looks out over the prairie. There are no peering eyes and virtually no traffic of the gravel road leading to Shalom Hill Farm, so I leave both my window and curtains open as I sleep.
As is my habit I awake early and glance out the window from my bed. I can feel the chill that has entered my room during the night through my open window and pull the covers tighter around my slumbering form. It is still too dark to enter the morning quiet, so I close my eyes and wait another forty-five minutes, contemplating what will be the joy of my morning walk. By 6:00 the darkness slows ebbs as the first fissures of light eke their way upon the eastern horizon. The retreat center is shadowy and quiet, my fellow retreatats enjoying well-deserved rest as I eagerly step my way into a delightful morning.
The chill in the air perks my senses, and as the verdant moisture connects with my skin I can feel the joints in my hands begin to tighten. There was a time when I did not understand when senior citizens spoke of the ache of arthritis, especially from cold, and now I am beginning to understand. It is like a headache in the fingers, but I know that within minutes the internal warmth I will generate from my walk will bathe my joints in welcome relief. I am joined in my walk by the retreat center dog, a small, short-haired terrier creature happy for early morning human companionship.
The gravel road in front of Shalom Hill Farm is long and straight and hilly. From the peak of the first hill to the other it must be nearly a mile in length. I remember again how distance on the prairie is deceivingly greater than what it appears to the eye. Small rocks crunching beneath my feet I insert one iPod earbud into an ear, leaving the other unfettered so that I will not miss the tell-tale aural indicators of a prairie awakening. There are deer prints in the sandy areas at the side of the road, and ahead I see their silhouetted forms as three whitetails walk from one side to the other, their images black against an orange horizon.
I have begun at the top of Shalom Hill, and as I descend I step into the foggy, moist blanket created as a result of early autumn's cold air's intrusion upon the warm summer remnants of hay and grass. I hear roosters welcoming the morning as I continue to walk a solitary path, spared any interference by car or human. As the sun continues to make its way over the hill ahead the birds are awakening, their spirited joy filling the landscape with vitality.
A new morning breaks upon the prairie, and it feeds my soul.
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