I’ve always wondered; to whom or what do atheists choose to express their gratitude when thankful? Is it helpful to have someone or something towards which appreciation (or blame) can be directed?  

I had a good run up the Camp Bird Mine road a couple days ago; Imogene Pass inflicted tendonitis all but gone in my left knee. It was a crisp fall kind of day with morning sun radiating Ms. Autumn’s palate in the aspens high above. Spying a trail, I ditched the shady canyon lane choosing to jog toward sunlight and aspens instead.

Trail running is the ultimate expression of freedom. It connects me physically, emotionally and spiritually with Nature... Mountains and Forests. A new trail is especially ideal, for it has the elements of surprise and the unknown. I would prefer the surprise to be something other than a bear or mountain lion of course, but it’s unlikely that our paths would cross because I always carry my camera... kinda like the  “wash your car and it rains” principle in reverse.

But sometimes you wash your car and it doesn’t rain. My brain reminds me that a little camera can’t really repel bears, so it orders tiny little glands near kidneys to secret a couple cc’s of adrenaline. This juice noticeably boosts the octane in my bloodstream, which serves to lighten my step and prepare this big old lumbering body for a “flight” response... because we’ve already agreed, my brain and I, that the “fight” response is not an option. After a mile or so I realize that I couldn’t outrun a bear even with a quart of adrenaline, so I stop and find a pointy stick and carry it along... just in case.

The trail wound upward, through shady woods that smelled alternately damp and decayed, and moldy sour. I think adrenaline also improves one’s sense of smell... something left over from the days when simply stepping out of one’s cave was risky business. “Sniff... sniff, you smell what I think I smell?”

I’ll take a freeway over a Sabertooth Tiger, thank you.

The trail finally broke out of the shade... into a sunlit forrest of aspen showing off glittering gold leaves like jewelry. I stop and soak it in... literally feeling wavelengths of color as it falls across my skin and absorbs. Like Utah’s red rock, autumnal hues are medicinal to me... healing... more so when alone.

Aspen leaves stiff with fall rustle in the breeze. It is a soothing sound, not unlike a creek, and suddenly I feel like curling up in a ball and taking a nap.

Sounds of rustling aspen begin to morph into tumbling water as I gain a ridge. It appears I’ve stumbled upon a hidden canyon. Walking now, I use my stick weapon as a pole to ease down an embankment, to a bouldered floor trickling a weak stream. I feel like I have been rewarded, somehow... for taking a chance... abandoning the road for a path less traveled. I’m thankful for finding this Hidden Canyon... but to whom? God? My eyes follow white sticks of aspen skyward... until they converge with a cerulean sky.

“Yes,” I decide, “I choose to be thankful to God.”