Letting go of things

19 Jul Letting go of things

In Telluride one is likely to see all styles of walking sticks: high tech ones by Leki, a broken branch picked up off the ground, or a fine piece of wood, maybe even laminated slices of hardwood carefully glued, sanded, finished. My stick (though it didn't start out mine) was a well balanced piece of hardwood. The original owner had seen a face in the head of the stick, had inlaid a pair of red glass eyes, small enough that you had to look for them, and the stick was beautiful, light and strong.

The point of all this is: I loved that stick. I found it alongside a popular trail, and stood it up against a tree. Several walks later past the same spot told me the previous owner was not coming back that way to reclaim his beautiful stick, and I took it home with me.

Some years passed without my using it, but one day I decided to try it out. As previously mentioned, I loved the stick, and it soon accompanied me on any walk involving some vertical. Four years of regular use had convinced me the stick was truly mine.

Two weeks ago I was walking with our friend Eileen and a passel of dogs, and at a creek crossing where we lingered to let the dogs play in the water, I set my stick against a tree, and when we moved on, the stick was left behind. Time prevented my going back for it when I first noticed I'd left it. So, the next morning, early, I set out with Gina the Dog, my mission to recover my walking stick. When we got to the stream, the stick was nowhere to be found. I searched the area, in case I had forgotten where I left it… but no, the stick has a new owner, and I have to let it go. After all, that's how I got it in the first place.

To the new owner: use the stick in health, walk the world; the stick will be a good companion.