I have started hiking again. After many months of biking, beach sitting, yoga indoors, and other forms that had replaced the simple act of walking under the trees, I returned to hiking.

This weekend, on Valentine’s Day to be exact, a six and a half mile hike with grand views and not a soul in sight.

Hiking reminds me that the only way to get “there” is one “here” at a time, by the rhythm of my own breath and the pace of my own two feet one in front of the other.

This morning, a bike ride to a shorter walk, also with gorgeous views and a few, but not too many, people around.

Just like that.

They had gone from blindingly bright yellow to a burnt orange, almost rust color.

One weekend of heat and sun, and all the blossoms turned.

I wonder when the mustard and oxalis will go their own ways, leaving me only with an impression of a day, a ride, a walk, when I stopped to notice what they once were.

With all these forms — hand sewn bookbinding, watercolor sketches, words, thoughts, stories — I began to wonder, “What am I doing? Am I an artist? A maker? A writer? A storyteller?” Are these all the “same-same, but different” (as they say in Thailand)? Am I all of these?

There was a bench, in a clearing at the top of the hill, with only the sounds of birds and occasional footsteps coming up or going down. A perfect place to ask a question.

All words, photographs, and artwork were created today by Lisa Chu.