Maybe you think from reading what I've been writing lately that when I'm walking in nature I've achieved some perpetual blissed out state of being. This, I assure you, is not the case.
Don't get me wrong, it's something I enjoy doing very much. Being out there often takes me out of my head and its dark imaginings and plugs me back into the larger world. Nature, that force of which we are all a part. But sometimes it still sucks.
Today, I walked about ten miles in my hiking boots. That's nothing much if you're a hiker but quite a bit if you're generally sedentary. Which I am. My feet complained. My joints were a little creaky. The muscles in my feet and legs and hips and back were a little stiff from walking yesterday. I felt somewhat depleted and that seemed to effect my balance and coordination. I tripped on roots, rocks rolled under the soles of my boots, the voice in my head was often unpleasant.
I filled the outside pocket of my backpack with trash found along the trail - beer cans, glass and plastic bottles, a dog's chew toy, food wrappers. I thought unkind thoughts about the people who litter and wantonly destroy. Then I remembered periods of my own wanton destruction and the voice turned on me.
And yet it was a beautiful day. I didn't really want to be anywhere else other than outside in the woods walking in solitude. I'm just saying I'm not Snow White out there with a bunch of enchanted birds tying ribbons in my hair, okay?
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