Solstice Walk

Blogging isn't the only ritual I resumed this week. For a good part of my 30s, at least, I made a habit of being outdoors somewhere at sunset on the solstices, usually taking a long walk in some woods. These observances held no special emotional or spiritual import. I just thought it was appropriate to take notice of these turnings of the year, the great comings and goings of light.

Yesterday, I put in a conscientious late-morning/early afternoon of course planning, then donned my new K-Mart hunting boots and set off for the Pinckney Rec Area. I wanted to hike an unfamiliar portion of the area, hoping that it might hold some grouse cover. It might have, 20 years ago.

But the hike was nice anyway. The southern Michigan woods in winter are no scenic wonder, but I did have that portion of them to myself. There is still a good 8 or so inches of snow on the ground, and while it was too warm yesterday for good skiing, I could have had great snowshoeing. It would have been pretty tough hiking if snowmobiles hadn't (illegally) run the trails earlier.

No especially notable sights (see ¶ above), though some of the frozen ponds and marshes were worth lingering over.



While I was getting my camera out, a large hawk lumbered over the marsh on long, straining wingbeats.

My wife was at her company Christmas party last night, feasting on Chilean Sea Bass atop Detroit's Renaissance Center. I made do with fish and chips at the bar in Hell, MI. Decent fish, soggy fries--so often, that's reversed.

Somewhere yesterday, I'm sure, there were more convivial and boisterous observations of the solstice, but I can keep making do with the sort I had, at least for the next few decades.