― Robert Browning Hamilton

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I walked a mile with Silence;

And ne’er a word said she;

But, oh! The things I learned from her,

When Silence walked with me.

I.

Sometimes, I’m walking—absorbed into myself—when out of nowhere, and all of a sudden, nature yells boo, jilting me out of my story and into the context around me: an invitation to take in the panoramic and gape. 

I’m brung back and find myself getting choked up with raw amazement at the scene before me—the swirling of the clouds, the gentle sway of the trees’ branches, the glide and glisten of the gentle waves of the lake…does it all just douse you with overwhelm sometimes, the sheer beauty of it all? 

II.

 I feel a thought bubbling up inside of me like boiled water spilling out. 

III.

Today, I went to the Museum of Outside Things. There, I worked some things out while I walked. As I passed by the various displays: a budding fir in its early days, a clump of bright yellow astilbe bushes, a forest clearing like an empty stage—waiting, a swallow perched in a tree…Words seemed to well up inside me until, like boiling water, bubbled over, looking for release, seeking air and light.

As my mind started weaving together words, stringing them one by one into fully-fledged and fleshed-out thoughts, my eyes started to open more and more. As if a cocoon when first hatching open, I felt a formed butterfly—birthed, coming out of a laborious and lethargic slumber. Eyes blinking open, squinting wider and wider, and seeing the world for the first time.

Looking around me, I found myself in an open clearing surrounded by trees whose branches were adorned by lush leaf shot up high above me. Within these taller trees, were smaller ones, flocked together, young and new: nova silva.

They came in striking variations of green, blending together beautifully like notes on a scale. Lazily, the air picked up—softly. Wafting through the leaves, moving them to flap and flutter, leaving them to dance.       

Out of nowhere, I heard the rattle of a chipmunk coming from a fir slightly east of me. Reveal yourself, I commanded it. I saw it suddenly. It didn’t have to show itself, it had been in front of my face the entire time, encouraging me to adjust my eyes. I laughed at my foolishness. He continued to chirp and rattle his tail, preening his sleek eyes. Clicking my tongue, I began to make music with my new friend, riffing of his rhythm.

I began to lose all sense of time and of course that is when the curtains fall open and the real show can begin. 

IV.

I’m strolling, utterly absorbed into myself and my own prerogative. Replaying cringy moments accumulated over the past week, broken-record style, like some conundrum to be solved. Around and around, turning, orbiting upon themselves, spinning out. There I am, caught up in my own head, thoughts all a buzz and then suddenly, out of nowhere, a fierce wind taps me on the shoulder, jostling me out of myself. With a sigh of relief, I let the breeze take me for a spin in both body and spirit to where I am: now. 

Spirit grounds into body and body spirits into ground. I look up and around and choke up naked incredulity. All is quiet save for the chirping of a distant bird. It feels like a movie scene when the sage freezes time to show the main character something key, the only ones outside of time and they walk around. They see a girl playing with her dog—frozen, a man about to spill his ice cream is caught in mid time—paralysed, ice cream as of yet unharmed. That’s how it feels, yet I am alone, and somehow also outside of time. I’ve lost track for something better. I prick up my ears, preparing to listen and learn the lesson the Sage has for me today.

No longer am I ticking to the clock, but rather to the clapping of the leaves as the wind stirs them to applause, the rattling of the chipmunk’s rail, the scuffling of the rabbit into yon bush, the cawing of the crow as it flies overhead…I’m on a different rhythm now. The mind has quieted and the air seems to whisper, ‘trust, little one, trust.’