Nov 09 2014
In the Now
A trace of snow on French Hill. My dog Matika and I tramp down the leaf-strewn trail. No sound except our shuffling through leaves.
Rifle shot in the distance. No matter. We’re wearing bright yellow and blaze orange. No one here but us… and a spooked partridge.
The sun plays peekaboo through the clouds overhead. Dried leaves still clinging to beech trees rattle in a slight breeze. Stick season: the world mostly brown and grey.
The air cold enough to justify the wool and thermal layers I’m wearing. I break a sweat while moving all the same.
Leaving the main trail, I follow the tracks of animals. It’s like this sometimes. Getting out of town isn’t enough. Sometimes I have to leave any semblance of human improvement behind in order to clear my head.
Glad I am not carrying a rifle. I take a few photos but even my camera is a distraction. I put it away.
In due time I achieve no-mind – the goal of true woods wanderers everywhere. Not so much what I think as what I don’t think… until the forest and I are one, until I have nothing to say. The ancient Chinese wanderer Han Shan would approve.
I wander aimlessly. Oh yes, now I remember: the wild defines me.
One response so far
One Response to “In the Now”
“Stick season” – that’s how I’m going to think of late fall from now on.