It never fails. Even after a relatively short immersion in the wild, I am transformed. When I started up the dusty path from the trailhead, I felt constricted in a calcified shell of containment; irascible, burdened, and somewhat prickly (think:
Amid the trees, the dry, herbaceous aromas of the lower canyon trail transform. Here the air is not only cooler by several degrees but suddenly tinged with mossy notes and a scent of green-tea, catapulting me to other places and other wanderings.
It was the bees that called me back to myself. To my heart, really. One sleek English Whippet on a lead in each hand, I was somewhat groggily stumbling barefoot down our street this morning, taking “the boys” out for their morning walk. My head pounded with a trigger point headache (a chronic problem lodged