Laura Brownlee's Natural Expressions: February 2014

There are times in my life when decision-making becomes somewhat of a challenge for me. Not big, major decisions, but small, everyday ones, simple things, such as choosing where to go for dinner when we're going out; or what to wear to a certain festivity... Perhaps I just have a lot on my mind or I'm easily distracted; maybe I'm feeling the stresses of the day...

Whatever the reason, and if it's the right season...

There's a place I can go to where there is a field spanning acres and acres and with paths running in all directions, intersecting and connection at various points. It's a spot with tall grasses--a perfect habitat for small game--and also the predators of these animals (so it's a perfect place for me!) and wide open sky. A place that provides a vista where I can stand on the highest hill and look out over the entire land. In the spring and summer, it's loaded with ticks. In the fall, it's loaded with hunters

But in the winter... when all is quiet...

The grasses are matted down, sticks of resting wildflowers remain standing, and chubby pines stand out among the barren surroundings. When snow covers the ground, the paths are clearly defined. As I stand at the connecting point of two paths I get to choose which direction to go. I may feel a pull toward one direction, I may feel curious of another. I might hear a sound--a scurry or the call of a bird... I make a decision. And it seems that because I can make these choices, it's almost like an exercise in becoming more decisive in other more important decisions.

It's quiet, peaceful, and very little distractions other than those pleasing ones laid out before me.

When no one else is around, here, this is my own sacred place.

I start out walking down a hill and along the left side of a lake.

Tall weeds in their fluffy coats line the edge and the path leads up a hill, straight ahead.

I arrived early this morning, hoping to see an owl catch its breakfast. This is a wonderful place to be as the sun rises, and when I saw the colors of the sky intensifying, I put a little pep in my step and my excitement began to build.

Up head were the first paths. Two going up, and also one to the left and one to the right.

I didn't want to head toward the light just yet. I still had time.

Which way? Left? Right?

I chose the path to the left.

The sky was rosy, and the path, though darker than the ones ahead, was just beginning to brighten.

Had I chose a different path, I wouldn't have come across these two deer, barely visible through the grass. I startled them and they darted away, into the direction of the rising sun.

The sun was rising. I quickened my steps again, walking uphill toward the highest point in the field.

Heading toward the light, I was welcoming the thought of warmth on this frigid morning. Yes, the temperature was below zero degrees, which I love. The ground was so frozen, each crunchy step in the snow announced my presence. So when I saw the sun, I knew it would make me feel even better.

I chose to pass by the path on the right and headed for the sun.

On the way up, I looked over the field toward the right. There, paths were laid out before my eyes, and immediately it reminded me of a Christian symbol of a fish. There was comfort in looking out and seeing the paths, with their connecting points. This perspective provided a sense of empowerment as I surveyed the land.

I was on a mission upward, so I passed the path leading to the fish.

Also passing this path with a glance over my left shoulder.

Now passing the connecting point of the fish symbol on my right, I'm still heading up to the top of the hill to greet the sun, but taking note of the cross I see in this spot.