The Purpose of the Trail
I enter the trail to the river.
I begin with a purpose.
Then I ask myself,
what is my purpose?
I am on a trail,
I ease my pace considerably.
I begin to meander,
my mind begins to meander.
I begin to imagine if my mind were a tablet,
my vessels were quills and my blood ink.
What would be discovered in my final observation?
I walk slowly and stealthily.
The crunch of the leaves and twigs littering the path snap under my feet betraying my stealth.
They saw me moments before I heard them and saw the flash of their bushy white tails.
They stop and eye me sending their message, intruder.
Suspicious of my presence they continue their sprint away from me until they were no longer visible.
My invasion of their home seems unfair, yet I still continue on the trail leading me to the river.
I gaze upon the river my mind etching the words furiously using its tools to inscribe the memory of the water flowing, the smell of wood and moisture, the vision and sounds of insects, lizards, and birds chirping and buzzing around me.
My purpose lies in the meander of my gait to listen, to see, to smell, to touch, and to taste life.
Looking for inspiration?
Take a walk in the remotest place you have access to, by yourself. Take nothing with you, no devices, no writing instruments, only a necessary bottle of water. Take your time, no rushing. The thoughts will flood your mind. You will want to rush back, don’t!
I took the wrong trail back, lost in thoughts, but as you can see I made it back safe and sound. You will forget stuff, it will return. Take the walk.
Sunrise or sunset?