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The air is crisp and the moon is full. It is an excellent night for a nature walk. We are here, together with a bunch of birds watchers ( listeners? ) from the Autobahn society, to talk to the birds.
Mike, the leader of our jaunt, is quite a character. He seems to have done this a million times, knows how to work the crowd, and isn't at all bashful with his bird calls. He gives us some background, walks out the door of the room we've gathered in, and starts talking to the birds. Unfortunately, they don't talk back.
I can tell from Mike's initial reaction that he expects something to respond. This is the warm up, the sure thing. He maintains an upbeat banter, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't expect good results from the night. To his credit, he still tries constantly to start an arboreal dialog.
We begin by walking downhill, on asphalt. Not fun in the hiking shoes I'm not used to wearing. Eventually we turn off onto a carefully flattened pathway in a field. It stinks of human meddling, small wonder the birds want little to do with us. Well, that and the noise.
Our group is a mixed bag; birders, romantics, teachers, and, well, us. I don't know how many have ever walked in the woods before, but I doubt they've ever seen anything alive in their path. While mostly people of average size, it sounds as though a party of pacaderms is touring the tundra, knocking down trees in its wake. Seriously, these folks are loud.
As we continue deeper, we come to a place where construction efforts have allowed a mud slick to form. This is the first highlight of the evening, as someone goes down. They're not hurt, but excitement is had by all. “The woods can be treacherous, watch yourself,” or something like that.
We come to a bridge. Over the bridge appears to be a woods less molested by man. I'm anxious to cross the bridge; this is the kind of environment I'm looking forward to visiting.
After crossing the bridge I pause. It feels different, being in woods; lighter in some ways, heavier in others. Like crossing the great steel ladders into cities, when you can feel the weight descend. Proper forests have none of that, they are free of the ravages of human concerns, but they do have their own dark worries. I notice my momentary contemplation has allowed to group to get some distance ahead me. I move to catch up.
Then, I get the feeling that one more straggler is still be behind me. It feels like that person is waiting for me to move. Not quite willing to pick up my pace, I shift to let them pass, but there's no one there. I'm alone.
I find the woods at night are always spooky, there is constantly this feeling of being scrutinized. Once you've felt this you either make peace with it, try to ignore it, or don't visit the woods again.
My strong feeling of someone behind me excites rather than scares. It's been a long time since I've experienced a moonlit mystery. I happily welcome it.
As I move to catch up to the others, I note a sharp feeling of relaxed clarity. My body no longer aches from the hike; even though I've already stopped a few times to hear the blood pound in my ears and am exhausted. I feel awake, alert, I'm walking very tall where previously I was slouched from pain and weariness.
As I analyze my new, happy feeling, it starts to fade. Thinking about things pulls you out of the present where you actually experience them. I relax back into the moment and enjoy the ride. Miraculously, I make not a single misstep on the root ridden, stone strewn path.
Sadly, my time communing with the wood spirits passes quickly. I look behind me several more times, the feeling is strong. I touch the odd tree, thanking it for the experience. I feel nothing substantial from the tree on contact, but as I move my hand away, my fingers grow noticeably cooler for a moment.
The feeling of someone standing behind me starts to fade into the distance. I'm no longer walking tall and am forced to start paying attention to my footing again, when I start to kick roots. My magical moment has passed and I miss it. Damn, I'm sore again.
Mike is still calling to the birds. The night is bathed in moonlight and it's beautiful. It's extremely cold, but we've been walking long enough that no one feels it anymore. Once again I marvel at the noise our group makes.
As we leave the woods, I feel even more exhausted. Even without my little wood spirit moment, I feel more energized in the brush than out. My feet hit the pounded gravel of modern construction and my body seems to tighten in response.
It has been a good walk on a nice night and I'm happy we came. I'm so going to feel this in the morning.
Mike, the leader of our jaunt, is quite a character. He seems to have done this a million times, knows how to work the crowd, and isn't at all bashful with his bird calls. He gives us some background, walks out the door of the room we've gathered in, and starts talking to the birds. Unfortunately, they don't talk back.
I can tell from Mike's initial reaction that he expects something to respond. This is the warm up, the sure thing. He maintains an upbeat banter, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't expect good results from the night. To his credit, he still tries constantly to start an arboreal dialog.
We begin by walking downhill, on asphalt. Not fun in the hiking shoes I'm not used to wearing. Eventually we turn off onto a carefully flattened pathway in a field. It stinks of human meddling, small wonder the birds want little to do with us. Well, that and the noise.
Our group is a mixed bag; birders, romantics, teachers, and, well, us. I don't know how many have ever walked in the woods before, but I doubt they've ever seen anything alive in their path. While mostly people of average size, it sounds as though a party of pacaderms is touring the tundra, knocking down trees in its wake. Seriously, these folks are loud.
As we continue deeper, we come to a place where construction efforts have allowed a mud slick to form. This is the first highlight of the evening, as someone goes down. They're not hurt, but excitement is had by all. “The woods can be treacherous, watch yourself,” or something like that.
We come to a bridge. Over the bridge appears to be a woods less molested by man. I'm anxious to cross the bridge; this is the kind of environment I'm looking forward to visiting.
After crossing the bridge I pause. It feels different, being in woods; lighter in some ways, heavier in others. Like crossing the great steel ladders into cities, when you can feel the weight descend. Proper forests have none of that, they are free of the ravages of human concerns, but they do have their own dark worries. I notice my momentary contemplation has allowed to group to get some distance ahead me. I move to catch up.
Then, I get the feeling that one more straggler is still be behind me. It feels like that person is waiting for me to move. Not quite willing to pick up my pace, I shift to let them pass, but there's no one there. I'm alone.
I find the woods at night are always spooky, there is constantly this feeling of being scrutinized. Once you've felt this you either make peace with it, try to ignore it, or don't visit the woods again.
My strong feeling of someone behind me excites rather than scares. It's been a long time since I've experienced a moonlit mystery. I happily welcome it.
As I move to catch up to the others, I note a sharp feeling of relaxed clarity. My body no longer aches from the hike; even though I've already stopped a few times to hear the blood pound in my ears and am exhausted. I feel awake, alert, I'm walking very tall where previously I was slouched from pain and weariness.
As I analyze my new, happy feeling, it starts to fade. Thinking about things pulls you out of the present where you actually experience them. I relax back into the moment and enjoy the ride. Miraculously, I make not a single misstep on the root ridden, stone strewn path.
Sadly, my time communing with the wood spirits passes quickly. I look behind me several more times, the feeling is strong. I touch the odd tree, thanking it for the experience. I feel nothing substantial from the tree on contact, but as I move my hand away, my fingers grow noticeably cooler for a moment.
The feeling of someone standing behind me starts to fade into the distance. I'm no longer walking tall and am forced to start paying attention to my footing again, when I start to kick roots. My magical moment has passed and I miss it. Damn, I'm sore again.
Mike is still calling to the birds. The night is bathed in moonlight and it's beautiful. It's extremely cold, but we've been walking long enough that no one feels it anymore. Once again I marvel at the noise our group makes.
As we leave the woods, I feel even more exhausted. Even without my little wood spirit moment, I feel more energized in the brush than out. My feet hit the pounded gravel of modern construction and my body seems to tighten in response.
It has been a good walk on a nice night and I'm happy we came. I'm so going to feel this in the morning.
From: (Anonymous)
no subject
Were you sucking on a Soy Slurpee?!?!?
-mike-
From:
Soy Slurpee
Well, beats drinking the kool-aid, I guess.
On the meme front, I noticed the title of tonight's Veronica Mars is “Drinking the Kool-Aid”. I've used this one before, years ago, and even had a computer trainer use it as part of his shtick. It seems to be making the rounds again.
http://www.wordspy.com/words/drinktheKool-Aid.asp