The trudge

I was tired of walking—really, trudging is what it had become.

I guess I was just tired…Sunday afternoons are made for resting aren’t they?  The sun had lured me out the door but my energy was flagging…a cold coming on perhaps?

P1140303 So I turned off the beaten track and settled myself on a little rise amongst the barren poplars…overlooking the sea just beyond–

P1140310  And I pulled out my new book of Robert Frost’s poems (on my Kindle, of course)…and I just sat there warmed by sunshine, lulled by a trickle of water close by, and browsed among neatly laid lines of words for awhile, and read—of roses, and hayfields, of woods, and of butterflies, sorrow and love. I’ve always like Frost’s way of putting things.

And I sat silent for awhile, wordless and content to have found a spot to soak in sun.

P1140315 Eventually, treading my way home, I turned aside at the little abandoned quarry—a pocket of water and silence.  Louie used to stop here for a drink on our walks. It’s been a long while.

I was wishing I were home already.  Tired of walking.  Tired of old tired roads.

A little further along I saw a track uphill I had never noticed before.   Who can resist a new trail to an unknown destination?

P1140322Curiosity overcame tired legs and up we went…

P1140323 It was just a short climb to a tabletop of stone with a panoramic view. So that’s how you get here!  I’d always seen this lone fir on its rocky promontory from the highway and wondered…P1140324

Now I know!


Sweet surprise for an afternoon’s trudge.


Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun.” Eccl 11:7 KJV

P.S.  If you enjoy Robert Frost’s poetry, don’t miss his first anthology, A Boy’s Will, available free online at

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