Why do I walk the Woods?

I really wanted to be very clever and say something with deep inner meaning and thought.
I even read Rumi for some inspiration, but sadly, his words are not my words.

So instead I told my husband that I was going to wander down to the creek. I said something like "To check the trail camera." He looked at me and smiled. He was sitting and watching Netflix. I know he is in there and he smiles, but his face is innocent and almost blank.  He also knows that what I mean to say is:

"Hey honey, I'm going for a walk because I can't sit still."

He is much better now, not depressed but still the person I used to be with has become someone else. It isn't his fault. The brain won't work quite the way it used to.

I grab a copy of Mary Oliver's book "Felicity" and my camera. I say over my shoulder as I head out, "See you in a bit!"

He nods and turns back to the program he is watching.

Funny how he never watched TV and now that occupies his afternoon hours. I can't even drag him away from it unless I walk up and hit the pause button.

I clutch the book with me and wonder why I've brought it. Really? A poetry book?
And it could start to rain at any moment.

I shrug and head out across the soggy meadow, my feet going squish squish across the grass. Actually, the National Weather Service predicted 2 to 4 inches of rain again tonight. So I am worried about the desk and the bears. 

The camera bag bumps me as I negotiate the trail down the steep hill. I can hear water falling from the 'run' off to the left. But it is getting darker out so I won't explore all of what I want to. I'll save that for another day.
I have something important in mind, but the idea is not clear yet.

I get distracted and make a slight detour.

The light is fading so I work quickly. I know exactly what I want to 'shoot'. I carefully lay the book on top of the camera bag and take some shots.

I want to see how these areas will change after another flash flood.

I can hear water droplets falling out of the trees. My book has gotten water on it. I carefully wipe it off and continue downstream towards 'the beach'.

I pick a rock to take a shot on. I need to find a good spot to 'shoot' from now until Spring. I want to see how this looks in all seasons.

Well, that is not what I came for not really.

I stand up and hold the book in my hands.

There is the desk.
It is very heavy and shouldn't wash away, but I don't want it to get damaged.

So I move it.
I carefully set the Artist Conches that the kids had drawn on aside and put them inside the desk.

I move the desk up above the creek to where it will be safe.

Off in the distance I hear a rumble.

I wipe off the desk and sit down.

And I flip open the book.
I read:

A Voice from I Don't Know Where

It seems you love this world very much.
  "Yes," I said. "This is a beautiful world."

And you don't mind the mind, that keeps you
   busy all of the time with its dark and bright wonderings:
   "No I'm quite used to it. Busy, busy,
   all of the time."

And you don't mind living with those questions,
   I mean the hard ones, that no one can answer?
   "Actually, they're the most interesting."

And you have a person in your life whose hand
   you like to hold?
   "Yes I do."

It must surely, then, be very happy down there 
   in your heart.
   "Yes," I said. "It is."

~ Mary Oliver

I close the book.

I now know why I walked the woods today.