I needed to take a walk yesterday. Feeling a mixture of sadness and inspiration, I grabbed my camera and notebook and left the house. It was a little chilly, but not as cold as its been the past few weeks, and the sun was finally out. I walked down to a wooded area by the neighborhood library that I’ve always been curious about. To my delight, it was complete isolation, and that made me happy. Closest to the street there were bushes of wildflowers and weeds, and the breeze told me I was supposed to be there. Something about this place was perfectly imperfect.
I sat down next to the flowers for a while and relaxed, noticing the bees and the ants going about their merry way. I didn’t see many other animals other than some squirrels here and there, but they looked like they were enjoying their day in the sun. Having not even entered the woods yet, I decided to walk further. I didn’t realize how far this place went back, I could see hundreds of trees in the distance, dipping down into a slope of greens and browns. There is something about the air when you’re surrounded by trees, it opens lungs and frees you somehow. It made me wonder how long this place had been here, and how much of this beauty was removed when the neighborhood first underwent construction. Before that, all the trees had were each other and the creatures that lived in and around them. That is a beautiful scenario to me. I wish I could be a tree.
“The pine will live for a century, the birch for half of that; do I fear that my signature will fade?” – Aldo Leopold