wild empath chronicles - rememberance
I decide to go riding. My gelding is very good at fixing my moods; I ride the trail where I usually spend a bit of time talking to God. But the conversation never started. I get to a “running spot” a slight incline in the trail and let my gelding go. The power of muscle, the wind in my hair, the sound of the foot falls as he drives up the hill. I lean forward to get my head as close to his as I can, we enjoy the run together. We are coming to narrow part of the trail, I sit and say whoa, and he slows to a walk.
The run was thrilling but my mood lingered. I leave the houses, and head to the forest. The smell of red dirt and the gentle waif of pine permeate my soul. I close my eyes and breathe deep. The sun is warm but there is a gentle breeze. I hear the creaking of my leather saddle, and the little critters skittering away from the large horse foot falls. I open my eyes and look up. The sugar pines are so tall that if you are right underneath you can’t see the tops. The oak leaves are nearly translucent against the clear blue sky.
A deer jumps in the brush, and takes two leaps and stops. The doe looks at me, and as our eyes meet, she relaxes and just watches me ride by. I am not a threat to her, I am not sure how she knows, but I am pleased she wasn’t frightened by my coming. I am reminded of a time as a young girl, sitting behind a thicket of black berry bushes near a stream. We got up early, brought our rifles, and waited all morning for the buck to show that my dad knew would be there. “There he is Tam, he whispers, now is your chance”. My slight 10 year old frame can barely hold the site on the buck. I have him, we have made no noise and he is unaware of his fate. The tears start to fall; I can not kill this beautiful creature. My father is let down once again by the fact his first born isn’t a son. He growls at me quietly, “this is what we worked for, the hunter’s safety course the new rifle, if you don’t do it I will.” He raises his gun, I grab a rock and throw it towards the buck and he runs away unharmed. I sneak a look at my dad, he is angry, but it was more than that, he realized that no matter what he did, I would always just be his little girl.
We follow the gently winding trail, the smell of red dirt and pine still strong on my mind. It starts to bother me a little, its just dirt and trees, why does it haunt me? We come to another “running spot” my melancholy has taken hold and my gelding senses it. He doesn’t even prance or start the game; he just walks quietly up the hill.
I am getting angry with myself. Something is wrong and I can’t figure it out. We go by a ranch with beautiful foals with Seattle Slew breeding. They run through the pasture with such abandon, so fast, so agile, it’s a joy to watch. I stop and watch them play for a while; still no smile, no joy. This has gone on long enough. At the next running spot, I let him go, we charge up the hill but I can’t out run the feeling, the sadness.
As we start our down hill decent, it comes to me, the smell of red dirt, the smell of pine, the smell of my dad. He was a logger, a man of the woods. He would come home covered in red dirt, and pine pitch. Sit in his creaky leather chair, and close his eyes before dinner, only for a few moments. Then he would smile a beautiful smile, and it would show off the twinkle in his eye. My tears start to fall.
The spark he called it one day not long before he passed. He told me his mom passed it down to him and he passed it down to me, and wondered if I had passed to my sons. They are both blessed with the spark. If only I knew what it was back then, the bright shine of an Empath.
Happy Father’s day dad, I miss you.
