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Exploring the sights and (peaceful) sounds of a new destination at the end of the work week – Water Works Park, just south of downtown Des Moines – previously unbeknownst to us even though it is a mere twenty minutes from where we live – was an exercise in discovery and exhilaration.

A quiet woodland setting, a rustic bridge crossing a swiftly moving current, bike trails intersecting at various points and a path with a view to the stables where I took riding lessons a few years ago, cardinals and deer and squirrels and red-headed woodpeckers, redbud trees in full glorious bloom, the burst of green all around us punctuated with lovely purple violets, that amazing fresh air – and then this.

In the midst of a slight clearing, this simple swing suspended from an old tree, seemingly erected for no other reason than the joy of providing that childhood rush of rising and falling, gathering speed in the open air, legs reaching higher and higher – just for the sheer fun of it all.

Indeed, serendipity at its finest.

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Faithful friends and loyal followers know that I’m a fan of old barns and an enthusiastic promoter of the Iowa Barn Tour. Perusing my photo gallery for inspiration, I landed on this shot taken in the lower level of the first barn we ever toured back in the fall of 2013. It was situated on a farmstead that had been in the same family for 150 years and it was a stunner. Before then, I wasn’t even aware that barns had ‘walk-out’ basements.

From the stanchions, used to milk the cows that were herded into the lower level at the end of each day, to the storage cubby-hole to the wooden gate to the ‘old-timey’ design of the roof joists, the space here – bathed in the beautiful fall light streaming in that morning from the many ‘daylight’ windows of the basement perimeter, was both charming and mesmerizing: so much history and tradition and reminders of a much simpler time.

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Rainy weekend and a soggy week ahead…

Waiting for clear skies and warmer temps again to repeat the joy of a newly rediscovered pleasure, one that invigorates and stimulates both my body and my mind: riding the trails and thrilling to the sights and sounds of nature, the freedom and exhilaration of movement, the calm and quiet especially at night when you pull off to the side of the trail with nothing but the sound of crickets chirping, frogs croaking, cows bellowing in the distance and the realization that you’re there to experience what would otherwise be unknown to you.

I purchased my bicycle in 2009 and rode it for maybe a couple of years before other concerns muscled their way into my psyche and free time. Why did we let our bikes sit in the garage, untended and unused, all these years hence? No matter. We’re enjoying this now and that’s what important. The doing, the being, the NOW.

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Our garage, much like the garages of most folks I suspect, is a catch-all for all manner of accumulated possessions, tools, gadgets, toys, cast-offs and what not. Comfortably ensconced atop a rickety shelving unit is a turtle planter (waiting for weather conditions ripe enough to allow me to fill it with dirt, flowers, sunshine, hope and love), a garden tchotchke (one of three that I purchased at Earl May a few years ago, each resembling a kind of robotic woodland creature) tucked away in the upper right corner of the frame and my trusty, grass-stained mowing shoes: New Balance #381.

Trash Amnesty, that much anticipated rite of spring cleaning, is our cue to dig a little deeper to see what else is lurking in the shadows of our garage (and other dark, hidden spaces) so that we might create additional space for yet more stuff to fill the void (of our lives?).

My mowing shoes, however, will stay right where they are: Ready to spring into action whenever the lawn needs trimming.

Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Numbers