The well-trodden path

The green grass, the tall trees, the birds singing. When I go to a park, I feel a sense of awe and wonder.

I am insignificant compared to the grand trees around me, who have stood tall for decades. I sometimes personify trees, wondering if they are secretly wise. We never hear their words. Their presence is noted. My complexity -- the biological processes that keep me going- is illuminated by everything around me that constitutes the park: trees, birds, benches, grass, leaves, branches, people.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time in parks.

One of the earliest videos I have of myself was my playing on a frame of a train in a play park. You could go inside the train, for it was only a frame. You could peer your head up through the chimney. As a four or five-year-old, this was a challenge. Getting through the chimney imbued me with a sense of accomplishment. I did it. My arms would tire quickly as I shouted for my parents to watch. Seconds later, I was back down. Trying again. The train occupied me for a long time. My sense of playfulness was active. My mind was open.

After playing, I would go on walks around parks, guided by my parents. I did not yet know the paths. I was younger. The trees were so tall. I was learning the path that would later become well-trodden. I was forming a relationship with the environment around me. Parks were a place to explore.

Parks are intricate. I never tire of them. I have walked around the same park in which I spent so much time as a child an uncountable number of times. The park has a place in my heart. I enjoy walking over a particular bridge where I get an excellent view of the river. I like the large expanse at the end of the park. On days when I am feeling particularly energetic, I enjoy venturing further from the park into the countryside.

Parks.

The babble of the river in the background.

A robin perched on a fence.

Children playing joyfully.

I love parks.

Before I moved away, I started forging new paths. I found a path in the city that brought me joy. I loved seeing the trees and all of the old buildings around. I felt the same sense of wonder and insignificance. Around me were well-kept hedges, tall trees, and buildings that could be over one hundred years old. Likely more. I could not see far, but I knew where I was. I was grounded in the wonder of the walk.

This particular walk ends on a tall hill from which I can see the whole city. I can stand aligned with the Castle. On a clear day, I can see the Forth bridges in the background. I see hills taller than the one on which I am perched. This hill is quieter than the others. I can look out at the city and the sea in peace.

I have followed this same walk dozens of times. I know my path. On that path are memories. Memories of listening to a particular song that brought me joy. Memories of my pondering difficult decisions that would alter the course of my life. Memories of peace as I had nothing in particular on my mind but enjoying the walk. I was forming a well-trodden path. The path became a support system; a place to think. A place to be.

The memories of which I speak refer to paths on which I last ventured months ago. I find myself yearning to go back to them, with the same excitement as a child who is going to meet a well-loved family member they haven't seen for a while. I want to go back to continue my explorations.

I have since made new paths, but none so connected with nature. The paths on which I primarily walk are connecting routes. Means by which to get "from point A to point B", an expression my father has used often. They have their beauty but I have less time to be subject to them. I move fast, eager to get to my destination.

Why did I stop walking on these paths? I became busier. I made new routines. Meanwhile, my sense of intellectual wonder has been more active. The energy I used to walk long, well-trodden paths is being used up, but I need to find a balance. An equilibrium. Nature helps me do that.