where do you go with your broken heart in tow...

I came within inches of jumping in my car, driving down and surprising my sister and her family today, but in the end I stood outside my car, bags already in the back, keys in hand, and decided that I should stay for a number of reasons I just couldn't get out of my head. I'm disappointed I'm not there, but I've done some things today that made me feel better (well, not really feel better about not being there) but at least made me forget it for a while.

I woke up this morning with a quote in my head. I heard it years ago and love it, but for some reason this morning, it was just under the surface of every thought.

"I said in my heart, 'I am sick of four walls and a ceiling. I have need of the sky, I have business with the grass; I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling lone and high, And the slow clouds go by. I will get me away to the waters that glass the clouds as they pass. I will get me away to the woods." - Richard Hovey

So when I had decided that "getting me away to the woods" wouldn't mean taking off to the south for a few days, I put on my hiking shoes and struck out across the farm. I had never explored the second half of the farm and so I walked the width of it and then jumped the fence into the river valley woods. Edmonton's river valley is about 21 times larger that NYC's central park and I feel like I've seen very little of it. There are some great walking and bike paths but today I didn't feel like running into anyone on the trail. For a while I followed some snowshoe tracks until I came to an old, fenced off footbridge. I follows its support pillars down to the river bed where I wove in and out of mud, snow, trees and bushes. There was these two tiny little birds that followed me for about 30 minutes. Flitting from branch to branch ahead of me as if to show me the way. I've never thought of birds as being curious creatures, but these two seemed to really enjoy the entertainment of my plodding through their space. I followed the river (vaguely) until I ended up near Fort Edmonton and could hear the whizzing of cars along Fox Drive. I then made my way into Whitemud Park where there were about 50 kids tobogganing down the hill and I tried to watch them without looking creepy as I climbed the 100 steps to the top of the valley. When I made it all the way up, I realized the trail ran right along the road and, feeling the need to disconnect with the world of pavement and people, I plunged back down the hill towards the river again. Before I knew it, I had lost any trace of tracks or human activity. Eventually I came to a point where I had to climb up the face of this steep hill or turn back. By this time though, it would have been just as difficult to climb as it would have been to go back the way I'd come, so I strapped my camera to me as securely as I could and started up. For the next 45 minutes, I hugged that hill as closely as I could while I tried to find footholds in the knee deep snow. When I reached the halfway point I looked back down and realized that it had been much steeper than I had first imagined, but eventually I made it to the top where I leaned my back against the trees, panting and sweating with mud and snow all over my hands and face. And as I stood there catching my breath, I thought about how alive I felt and how much I love that moment where beauty and the supernatural and self awareness all collide.

I don't know exactly where I am going with this. Probably into the territory of indescribable, inarticulated experience, so I will stop here and simply say I intend to seek out that moment more often and hang on to it with everything I have inside me.