I start my adventure by walking down the fence line. I love fence lines because I love thinking about how such boundaries were settled upon by land-owners. Was there a feud? Inherited? "20 acres and a mule"? The fence posts are generally very, very old as well; cut and staked in a time before modern conveniences of electric chainsaws, augers, and a Polaris to transport. Real men. with red necks, work ethic, and resolve.
The fence line brought me to this.....
A water gap. I sat and listened to the water trickle down, watching a leaf float the current from the neighbors land through the water gap and into our land. My leaf now, if only for a while, as it continues its journey to the next water gap/fence line. How long had it been floating aimlessly? one year? 14 years? I felt compelled to grab it and hold onto it as if it were something I knew I would regret letting go of. There was nothing particularly special about that leaf but I needed to have it. How many people had held that leaf and then carelessly dropped it I wondered?
Naturally, it floated to the middle of the creek and was gone.
I followed downstream for a bit, ducking under mesquite (ouch!), jumping over cactus (double ouch!!), and dodging deer droppings. (Speaking of deer, I really want one. We owned exotic deer, as well as a buffalo, at one point in my crazy life but I want a domesticated deer. One that will drink out of a water bowl and escort me on my runs. Maybe I just need a Mastiff.)
The water was green but clear. If it were July I just may have stripped down to my non-matching skimpies and cooled off but being that it was 59 degrees and windy, I admired from the banks. Rounding the bend, I came to this spot.
I have never been so overwhelmed by nature in my life. I sat where I stood, looking up at the towering trees imagining baby birds being gently lulled to sleep in nests by the sway of a breeze. The sounds of complete isolation are spellbinding. The water continued its gentle roll and I saw that leaf again but couldnt quite reach it without risking getting wet.
My fingers unknowingly began sweeping the decaying leaves and rocks beneath them and I wondered if I was and will always be the only person to touch this very spot? Virgin land.
My eyes welled up as every emotion I had been feeling last week was being absorbed out of me by my surroundings like a sponge to water. Fear, love, uncertainty, faith, confusion - it was all there. I imagine if emotions had color, that sponge would look like a Monet.
In perfect timing, a dove flew through the hollow, landing effortlessly on an oak branch above me. She cooed a bit and was soon accompanied by her mate and I wondered for a second if animals have the same feelings as people? Was this little girl dove in "love"? Did her stomach twist in knots as she awaited his arrival? Did she get fluttery "butterflies" in her stomach upon just merely seeing him? Would they always love eachother and find their way back to eachother as they aged?
The pair flew off together as I snapped a quick picture of my Heaven on Earth and wiped away the tears- realizing after looking at my hands that I was not wearing water-proof mascara. Perfectly fitting to look like a raccoon out here. And then I almost stepped on one. A dead one.
A few careful steps around the ill-fated rodent, I came to a sheer cliff decorated by roots of trees hanging on for dear life against the power of mother natures strongest force. Water erosion. Their lifeline exposed to the elements yet they still thrive, adapting to their conditions. People are much like this, I suppose. We are dealt so many hands and have no choice but to adapt and continue to live because the alternate choice is not ours to make. Me, I have been dealt what most people could not dream of by the tender age of 30 but have adapted and made lemonade: married to my best friend, happy family, wonderful extended family, supportive friends, the ability to look at a no hope negative situation and be optimistic. My roots are exposed but shielded by the people I love and let love me. 
And there is that leaf again, waiting for me to continue walking so it can find a place to meet, fatefully.
The brush is starting to get thick so I can either go back the way I came or find a way through it. In true Nichole fashion, I choose the path of most resistance- my arms, legs, and cheek have the scrapes to prove so.
The thicket opens up to a beautiful open creek. Only problem is that I HAVE to get to the other side. Ah, a stepping stone. 
Seems like there's always one of those to help you along your way. Think about it. In any life-altering situation- an ultimate career goal, a break-up, etc., there are people or experiences (stepping stones) to help you to the other side.
I hop over it and am now on flat, familiar, safe ground. (But not before nearly mistaking an overturned turtle shell as another stepping stone. Poor fella.)
From here, all things turn back to black and white, much like Dorothy's return to Kansas. I find the quickest escape route and return to reality...
With a grassy green leaf in my pocket...
