Underneath the fashions of colour, clothing, philosophies, health benefits, and footwear is the rather simple business of going for a walk in nature. The senses seem to recognize the arrangement. For a while, the modern urban life can be directed into the spam filter, and the woods become a perfectly reasonable place to be.
John Muir understood something of this, as did Henry David Thoreau, who was suspicious of a walk in the woods that left the mind on issues of town. Sigurd Olson called it the Singing Wilderness. The names and philosophies vary. The walking remains much the same.
There is something about the repetitive motion of walking, particularly when there is nowhere that one urgently needs to get to, that allows small things to make their way into attention. A movement in the brush. A bird call. Something on the ground that requires another few steps to identify. The memorable parts are often no larger than that. I like looking for them, especially the ones that arrive outside the usual senses.
After a while, the walking itself seems to become enough. The ground changes underfoot, the air changes with the trees, and there is always something just far enough ahead to keep going toward it. But, almost as though in defiance of some modern bylaw, the best show often begins with stillness. Sit down and observe.
It is even better when someone else, especially your own kids, finds the path and begins noticing the same things. There is some satisfaction in watching a person, or a dog, discover that the woods are worth paying attention to. Dogs generally arrive at this conclusion rather quickly. Re-creation.
(also under People & Pets page)