It’s the end of a day of walking, of spending time outdoors among the vibrant spring greens of the forest, of saying the names of the flowers that we passed, of enjoying the simple joy of putting one foot in front of the other. I have, with pleasure (and perhaps a little relief), taken the weight of those tired feet of mine, and I am sitting in the car looking out into the campground.
Were I at home, I would be on my laptop or on my phone, watching, reading, listening; filling my senses to distract myself from the noise of the city – the impatient traffic, the boisterous pedestrians, the cantankerous seagulls – or to push away the stresses and busyness of the working day, or to live vicariously through the eyes of others on social media, seeing things I am not in a position to see.
But here, I feel no such need or desire. I am content to sit and look and listen.
To look at the forest through the window, the tall straight trees creating an arboreal bar code of sorts, the gaps filled by smaller trees and shrubs replete with broad green leaves. The trees are swaying in the wind – it’s mesmerizing to watch and I almost find myself swaying in sympathy, even though I am seated.
To listen to the river, the wind, the birds. I hear the excited voices of children at play, the sound of their bike tyres on the gravel, the celebration of someone’s birthday, the sharp report of an axe splitting wood for a crackling campfire. The river is ever present, a low muted roar. The wind waxes and wanes in the tree tops, a gentler yet more insistent sshhhh, occasionally rushing through the forest near ground level and shaking the smaller trees into motion, their leaves adding higher harmonics. Earlier, the dawn chorus filled my ears with song and squeak, chirp and trill – a cornucopia of sound!
I am not bored. I am simply happy to be able to sit and let time pass, to savour what my eyes and ears detect, to let the light of the day set my circadian rhythm. Self-awareness pricks my conscience and I wryly acknowledge the irony in typing these words into an electronic device as I simultaneously disavow its hold over my life.
I am calmed. Inspired.
I say to myself, this is being.
I gratefully acknowledge that I am able to spend and savour this time on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded lands of the Lil’wat people.
Being. Outdoors. 