Listen Now

Lying on a frozen pond, trusting the ice will hold me, feels akin to the decision-making  that took me away from the solid ground of the familiar.

“Norma,” my inner critic, visited while I lingered at the beaver meadow. Mary Oliver’s poetry helped me reclaim my enoughness.

How journaling the phrase “headed into the woods” turned “heart” into a verb. (And what happened next.)

Finding a Northern Casemaker Caddisfly larva in a beaver pond started me thinking about my own portable cocoon.

Walking by the beaver pond with Asha, expecting to see Canada Geese but finding the pond empty of birds, prompted me to consider wonder, both noun and verb. 

What I found while crunching through the snow searching for birch seeds.

How Asha’s instinctive No led me to begin to acknowledge and respect my own body’s No’s — without layers of Supposed to or Should.

When I start to get lost in uncertainty, I turn to this comforting lesson from a foggy morning walk.

So many delights and I haven’t mentioned the bluets, Canada-mayflowers, sensitive ferns and all the plants whose names I don’t yet know. Nor Asha’s chipmunk-chasing and puddle-lying. By the time we return home, I feel deeply nourished and energized by this meandering and visiting with woodland neighbors. When I sit down to write, my inner critic Norma starts to intrude on the deliciousness of my walk. “No one cares about your delight,” she says. Read the full story at walkswithasha.com/stories.

Sometimes being with sadness is all that’s asked of us.  

These ordinary moments reminded me that despite isolation, worry and fear, beauty arrives in many forms, offering connection, nourishment and comfort.

The reason I say ‘Hello’ by name to the trees as Asha and I make our way through the woods — and what is changing walk by walk, name by name.  

Why does being annoyed lead me into unkind self-judgment? What do I miss noticing and what’s available if I make peace with irritation?

What Asha’s instinctive reaction to the unknown shows me about greeting my own fear and uncertainty.

Why I devote attention and time to exploring the qualities of both satisfying and unsatisfying walks.

How maps change my experience on woodland walks, and why, even though I might at times want one, it’s often better for me to walk map-free.

When my inner wisdom sagely invited herself into the conversation I was having with my inner critic, she posed a permission-giving question.

How snow, a dog and a stick helped me hear what my heart most needed.

How the prospect of crossing paths with bears seen wandering in the woods where Asha and I walk helped me deal with the ‘bears’ wandering in my mind.

Noticing Asha’s instinctive chase-rather-than-wait offered me a comforting invitation into self-kindness and discernment.