Only thoughts reached by walking have value. (Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols)

The Glen is one of several gorges we can explore in the Finger Lakes region. Its advantage is that it’s close; its disadvantage is that it’s isolated, and I feel uneasy venturing forth alone. At different times in the past, I’ve heard screams, seen disturbing graffiti scrawled on rocks, and felt generally vulnerable.

But on this occasion I had a walking companion and a dutiful though nearly deaf dog close at hand, so it all had a friendly feel. This library of sticks for dogs was added since our last visit, and it lent a hospitable vibe to the trailhead.

There’s always a collection of wildflowers growing this time of year. Though I’d chosen to leave my big camera at home, I tried to capture some pics.

There’s always a chipmunk somewhere. This one watched us start down the trail.

Though we didn’t walk down the stream bed, its beauty and cool dampness refreshed us as we crossed. Once, years ago, we heard a winter wren singing along this stretch, and lured it closer by playing the All About Birds recording of its song.

We walked a trail along the bank.

Near the stone bridge at the lower end of the stream was a small waterfall, pretty though low on water. I was more aware of all the fallen trees that I’ve been before. It seems strange to call nature disheveled, but that side of it — sometimes violent winds, processes of decay, and a failure to cater to our desire for the neat, the tidy, the picturesque — struck me.

For years, this tree’s roots have made it look like it’s tip-toeing up the bank, but it remains rooted to its spot. Once we took a family picture against it. This time, it reminded me a little of the barrow wight’s hand dancing toward the entrapped hobbits in the Old Forest of The Hobbit.

On the way out, we passed a batch of blue and, more unusually, pink forget-me-nots that always attract me. Clearly, I obey. I don’t forget them.

In general, the band of trees along the trail seemed thinner. We didn’t remember seeing through them before to anything on the other side, but there seemed to be cleared land, and perhaps rooftops.

Turns out they were solar panels. A huge project was going on, installing solar panels over a large area at the border of the nature preserve.

The walk out always feels long, hot, and relentlessly uphill. But this time, we saw a new trail that appeared to be a shortcut to the parking area. We took it… and came across a towhee putting his own spin on the familiar call.

What a treat to see this fellow tossing off such a full-throated variation on the usual “Drink your tea!” It was a lovely send-off as we headed out of the woods.

I’m engaging in a personal restoration project. For some reason, I can drift away from the things that bring me joy: walks, photography, playing the piano, journaling, even reading for pleasure. When I finished my master’s thesis years ago, I recall coming out of the exam and thinking, “I don’t have to study. Now I can do whatever I want!” But this was immediately followed by a sense of blank. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do!

It’s easy to sink into the daily routines and “tyranny of the urgent” and forget what energizes us. I’m trying to climb back out of such a place by incorporating those simple pleasures. Yesterday I took a walk at a nearby park, and even though the world seems barren and colorless in this season, I was reminded that beauty remains — and what color there is, is more potent against its largely monochromatic surroundings.

The gathering of trees to the left has always been in flux. It’s in a low spot and often floods; the trees’ shallow root systems have yielded a number of the company over time, as the stumps attest.

But it’s still lovely. The girls and I dubbed it “Buttercup Hollow” one spring years ago, but an entish name would be equally appropriate.

Dead leaves, rust-colored brush and bare trees. . . yet against the chilly blue sky, it doesn’t look blah. The subtle shades and textures are highlighted.

Lucy, in constant motion and always interested in the odors, is in her element. She’s getting older too — just turned 12 — but she’s still always ready for an outing.

The stream brings back memories of my children searching for crayfish, minnows, and rocks to throw for the dog — as well as one homemade boat that was tested in this stream.

I wouldn’t want to go in today!

The fallen tree to the left is new and serves as a reminder that the elements of any natural scene are temporary. But the overall impression isn’t of death, but serene beauty.

This trail is marked by plantings. We helped put in a few of them at this park when the girls were in 4H. They’re supposed to prevent erosion, and some of them seem to flourish. But I’ve never seen them freed from their little green tubes! Who’s allowed to take them off? Who decides when?

Still, they provide a neat border, as well as define a yellow-brick-road style path inscribed on the landscape. We followed it out to the end of our “little explore.”

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