Lake Padden Soliloquy Story by Judy Johnston
I
t’s chilly here this morning, unlike the recent fall day I was inspired to walk around Lake Padden. It had been months since my last complete loop, but I was determined to give it a go, it being such a beautiful day and all. I parked above the swimming area and headed off, my trusty walking stick as my companion. Why not start with Heart Attack hill? Approaching this challenge, I was treated to vistas across the lake to the Chuckanut Hills including a kayaker slipping silently beyond the shore, a picturesque snapshot on the sun-sparkled water. Then, the hill. One step at a time as I began to recall the many times I ran this route. Cresting the hill, a group of laughing, chatting ladies walked by; a moment of envy at their companionship and fun. And then the deeper woods. Oh, I’d forgotten how majestic the wise old trees are, how fresh the glades slipping off the path, fern strewn. A feeling of peace, of being unhurried, of refreshment settled around me. Stopping to give homage, I place my hands on gnarled bark…the message was quite clear: “I’ve been here for hundreds of years, draw on my strength and shed the worry, the clutter, the sadness: life will flow on.” I got a sense of permission to take my time, sit when I wanted to, breathe, reflect and drink in the scents of pine and cedar, sun warmed. But I continued on. Several dog walkers, buggy pushers and joggers 26
The heartbeat of Cascadia
passed with a friendly response to my masked greeting, a pleasant sense of community. Sunlight pierced through the colored leaves as well as the lofty fir and cedar and it felt good to crunch through the fall detritus. Rounding a bend, another hill —up and then down, remind-
I sat on one of the many memorial benches, enjoyed a refreshing drink and reveled in not needing to hurry…no one awaiting me, no schedule to keep. It was around this half-way point when Jim and I had walked together that I’d joke, “this walk is just too long, I think I’ll go back.” He heard it more than once and indulged my attempt at humor. How many times had we walked this path together? He often stopped to pick up pinecones and interesting small pieces of wood, each a treasure in his eyes, while I, sometimes impatient, waited to walk on. Continuing, I caught glimpse after glimpse of more views of the lake through leafy frames. And now, the curve in the downward path revealing the baseball fields, more people enjoying this lovely place. I sit again watching the ducks waddle around hoping for a handout, the drake guarding his less lovely mate. The playground, usually alight with the laughter of playing children and their happy parents, now Covidquiet, a bit forlorn. A memory of being here a year or so ago with Photo by Chara Stuart my granddaughter Kaila, her tiny hand in mine as she said she was ing me of cross-country skiing here on a glad I was with her and then skipping off cold winter day, and the exhilaration of to play. a challenging bike ride or two. And oh! And on I go, the home stretch. The Another memory of a solitary walk durseat where Jim and I used to sit, especially ing a high wind, the trees flaying their in his final years of being at home. Quiet arms as if to tell me: Watch out! Limbs talk, mutual appreciation of the sights, could come down! Recalling the moansounds and fragrances around us. A gening of the wind as it whipped through tle communion. Seeing a few fishermen, I huge branches and pushed me along remembered several years of OPENING brought a smile to my soul. (Story continued after Arts & Culture Guide)
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