The manifold half-mile
The distance from the trailhead where I park my car to the front door of the lighthouse is a half mile. How do I get from point A to point B? There a numerous possibilities. For routes, the choices are the trail, the creek, and the cove. More often than not, I walk the trail. Occasionally, I run. After an evening in town, I walk back in the dark without a flashlight. I walk by moonlight or starlight. When absent-minded of high tide, I wade through high water: ankle-deep, knee-deep, waist-deep water. I stroll along the sandy beach at low tide. I canoe along the creek. I kayak. In winter, after a snowstorm, I use snowshoes through the woods atop the snow. Tonight, I added another alternative to the various ways from the parking lot to the lighthouse. I put on my cross-country skis and glided through new fallen snow in the dark along the frozen cove. Like so many journeys to my doorstep, distinguished by subtle daily and seasonal changes in weather and water conditions, this one was unrepeatable.