...winter...

Like the seasons, our lives move in cycles.

Desperate for some fresh air, I opted out of the gym and headed into Castlewood Park, one of my favorite hiking haunts. Thought I am not a lover of the cold, I needed to spend some time alone with my thoughts, and hiking always provides a fresh perspective and a renewed sense of energy. I was not prepared for what the next two hours would hold.

Arriving close to 3pm, I parked the car and walked to the foot of the massive hill at the entrance of the trail, only to find that the footsteps of fellow trail walkers had so packed down the snow that it was nothing but a thick coat of ice. Thus began my treacherous trek up the mountain.

I slipped more than once trying to navigate a safe path to place my feet, and, sweet lord, did those falls sting. My feet were unsteady and my gaze was continually down, and all of my energy was consumed with the task of keeping me upright.

The trees were stripped bare, and their long branches played tug of war with my loose strands of hair. I clung to some of them for support. I usually love this hike, but as it went on, it became unbearable. I wondered when it would be over. My muscles were taut in an effort to keep my body steady. My mind was exhausted from scanning the landscape for a suitable path. And reaching the overlook point was not encouraging.

My green haven had become a brown and desolate wasteland.

Summer vs. Winter

As I began the long march toward flat ground, I wondered if I would slip and fall, impaled by the broken off stump of some skinny tree. I wondered if I would lay there in the snow and ice and cold, bleeding out, dying. Dying in the cold is my worst fear. It's not so much the death, as it is the cold, and the inevitable shivering that would envelope my body. I hate shivering.

A man followed me for quite a ways. I wondered if he would murder me, leaving my broken body alone in the cold. I wondered if he was an angel, sent to reintroduce me to a loving God. Then he walked up alongside me and began to chat. As it turns out, he was a wanderer, just like me. He carried two walking sticks. They helped, he said. I found my own walking stick and we trudged on. In moments when we weren't focused on our feet, we talked about our city, about his family, and about the park.

But on that neverending hike, the overcast sky offered enough gray light to see and appreciate the beauty of things I had never noticed before. A set of old stone stairs, leading to no where, but having led to somewhere, that had been in disrepair for many decades. New paths that I could never see in the summer because they were hidden by the overgrowth.

Eventually I gave in and just walked on the ice.  It was almost easier than having to wrestle branches out of the way to walk on what was once grass.  And I thought about how our lives rotate like the seasons, not just in terms of age, but in terms of the situations that we face. Some days are extremely wonderful, full of promise and hope and renewal. Others are so cold and dark, you'll wonder if the sun will ever shine again.

But just like the seasons, the sun is sure to shine again, and maybe clinging to that hope can be enough for now.

It's odd to think that I don't know some of you. I hope we'll become friends before this year is over. You are such an encouragement to me. I don't know where you are in this never ending cycle, but if you should find yourself in a winter, remember, the promise of spring is just around the corner.

So, this is not an adventure that I will take again. I loved snowshoeing in Colorado, but I doubt ice hiking will ever be my thing. If you live in the St. Louis area, and want to see how you'd fare, I left my walking stick by the tree in the parking lot. You're going to need it! Venture on at your own risk!