photo by Lea Gibson
I live in a part of the world with coastal rain forest dripping year round. There is water ever present–in the spongy ground, in the lush greenery, in the absorbent moss, in the patchwork lichens, in the arm-like roots lying on top of the ground, instead of driving deep underground to tap into a reservoir.
This is forest similar to what I experienced in central Africa, with a tall canopy, thick vines growing by the yard, and pathways always ready with exposed roots to trip me up. So much of my time is spent staring at where to place my feet safely that I miss the expanse of beauty over and around me. It becomes a huge relief when I find the occasional stretch of pathway that is smooth going without the built in hazard course.
But of course, life isn’t an unobstructed path itself. When I’m hurrying, I’m constantly tripped up when I least expect it. If only I had taken my time and had been paying attention, I could have avoided the fall. Yet, I don’t want to spend the rest of my days staring intently at my feet and where I am–I want to lift up my head and focus my eyes on what’s ahead rather than just on the pathway below.
Slowing down will help. In fact, it already has.
Hankerings 