I wake and see heavy rain falling over the field. There's no way the dogs and I won't soak to our skin this morning. Maybe I won't walk today, I think. Plus, my muscles are achy and tired. A nap sounds good, even though I've just gotten out of bed. My daily walk means many hopeful things - mostly, it's a creative practice. And every creative act encounters resistance. Fear of failure, fear of disappointment, fear of wasting time for no worthwhile results. This morning I am resisting (1) getting wet (2) making an effort (3) feeling cold (4) feeling messy (5) feeling frustrated by not finding anything worth photographing. 

So, I just put on my layers, a hat and a hood and go out into the rain anyway. How did I forget? Everything is more interesting on a rainy day. 

How is it that a flower after blooming is more arresting, more appealing? This blackberry lily - whose name I just hunted for - must have bloomed here, by the railroad tracks at the edge of the woods, while I was gone for a month this summer. The blaze of a bright orange bloom would have stopped me in my tracks for sure. But, this morning, out of the corner of my eye, it's the faint glow of the black wet berries on the brown, dying stalks that stops me. I step quickly across gravel into the brambles and brush for a closer look. I've never seen such an unusual burst of berries bunching out of almost diaphanous petals! I take out my cell phone - and the battery dies. Such rotten luck. But I keep walking, trusting that if I warm the battery inside my shirt it will revive, and if I'm meant to have a picture I can share, I will.

The best day to walk in woods is any rainy day.

All photos and words copyright Kelly DuMar 2016 unless otherwise attributed.