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Saturday, July 04, 2015

Count these days slowly

I grew up in pre-Amy Mihaljevic Bay Village, so the grownups let us wander hither and yon for hours under the delusion that we were safe. We mostly were. In summer we’d lose ourselves in the woods near the lake. We waded in streams and imagined adventures.

Something happened to time in the woods. I want to resist the cliché about it standing still, but some sort of warp was going on. Being surrounded by all that nature – trees way older than ourselves, smells you couldn’t find indoors — provided a connection to the infinite. We'd be explorers from the 19th century for a while, and credibly so.

Then we’d hop our bikes and go home for dinner, and clocks resumed their ticking.

Today I hiked around the woods and meadows at Holden Arboretum. The farther I got from other people (this took awhile), the more I found of the person I was in the woods back in Bay.
The weeds lick my shins. The sun and breeze take turns brushing my cheeks. A fly settles on my sketchbook. It could be 2015. It could be 1971.

Bliss.
Bliss.
Bliss.

But the wandering grownup knows to treasure these forays into nature on a perfect summer afternoon. Supplies are limited. This is part of what it means to grow up. I don’t take anything lovely for granted anymore.

1 comment:

Lynn Wolf Dulcie said...

As we age we grow wiser and more grateful. Or not. I have.