understanding oneself through observation in nature: reflections

October 9, 2020

It’s still dark outside as I step onto my front porch. The porch light illuminates my surroundings. In the distance, I spot a man out for a walk. Before leaving the perimeter of my house, I pull out my camera and put it around my neck so that it’s ready at a moment’s notice if the perfect photo opportunity arises.

The call of what sounds like either a duck or a loon rings out in the distance. The sun slowly peeking over the horizon while hearing the call of a bird is a strangely peaceful sight. Since the sun hasn't fully risen yet, the moon is still in the sky. I immediately get my camera ready to take a picture.

Ahead of me, a man is walking his dog. I’m not sure if it’s because of social-distancing rules or because I like to avoid people as much as possible whenever I’m out on walks, but I end up taking a slight detour down a roundabout. Even though I did end up on a detour, it gives me the chance to see the sun begin it’s ascent into the sky from the perspective of travelling down a new route.

I see a streak of what looks possible to be a cotton-candy coloured jetstream in the sky. It reminds me of a falling star amidst the backdrop of sky blue. I hold my camera up and take aim at it, intent on getting a picture, should I never see something like it again on my future walks.

Brown leaves are scattered about and shriveled up on the grass. In spite of their state, I’m intrigued by them - perhaps because they represent the cyclical nature of death? My attention is immediately drawn towards a tall tree as straight as an arrow, with a bright cardinal red foliage. It’s so fascinating that I have to capture a photo of it.

Another man is out walking his dog. That’s three in total. Most of the dogs looked to be golden retrievers or labradors. On my way back home, a car speeds down the road, disrupting my peace with nature for a moment, and temporarily reminding me of the reality of our society, so technologically advanced that we often don’t realize it’s interruption until we are immersed in our natural surroundings.

October 23, 2020

I ended up sleeping in. Initially, I woke up sometime around 2:00 a.m. in the morning, struggling to fall back asleep as I lay awake, ideas churning in my head. Eventually, I managed to fall back asleep. It was 7:47 when I woke up once again. The sunrise was at 7:49 and I decided at that point to just wait until tomorrow because there was no way I’d be able to make it to my intended destination in time to see it. Twenty minutes later, I changed my mind and decided I would go on the walk anyway. I’ve learned that nature cannot be boxed in so easily, so why not be spontaneous and see what the world is like from a different vantage point? I ended up leaving the house sometime around 8:20.

When I step outside, the first thing I see is the crowd of children on the street corner, waiting with their parents as the school bus arrives. Two cars drive past. It draws my attention to the busy routines of others that occur after sunrise. There is more noise as a result and it’s a stark contrast to the walks that I’ve taken in previous weeks. Exhaustion slowly floods into my body and I pray that I will not collapse when I have to cross the street. Thankfully, I make it to the other side safely.

Grass stains litter the sidewalk. The smell mixes with that of the slightly damp air. I walk, cars whizzing past me on the streets. The noise of which disturbs the usual silence that I’m used to in the early morning hours. Eventually, I get to the trail that acts as a shortcut to the hill. I lament the fact that I won’t be able to get a photo of the sunrise rising above the city, but I find that there is beauty in seeing the sunlight hit the trees lining the trail as I pass through. My boots are getting soaked, and a few wet leaves cling to them. I suppose it was bound to happen, especially with the trekking that I’ve been doing. There are several pieces of trash scattered about the ground, and it jars me, seeing the garbage amidst nature.

When I reach the top of the hill, the sun is shining over the city. I snap a picture, and turn to see my shadow. A few minutes later, the shadow disappears. I glance back towards the sun, only to see that a cloud is passing over it, shading my surroundings. There is almost something divine about how the rays of sunlight still beam through the clouds that obscure it, that I can’t help watching as they slowly drift through the atmosphere. After all, the clouds are temporary. The sun is still there, and will shine brightly once they’ve passed over.

I turn to head back home, the sun illuminating my surroundings in it’s golden light once more. On the trail, there is a vehicle clearing a pathway through the leaves. I don’t see the garbage anymore, and I take that as a good sign. In spite of the fact that I ended up taking my walk after sunrise, I was able to gain an even deeper appreciation for nature, as well as a new perspective as to how different the world is before sunrise vs. afterwards.

November 6, 2020

I ended up taking my walk at a slightly later time then what I’d originally planned. However, the sun had not yet fully risen in the sky, and I took that as a good sign that it was still early enough. Besides, when I took my walk at a later time a couple of weeks ago, I realized that the later starting time brought with it sights and sounds that would've been there if I’d taken my walk at an earlier time.

I step outside and it feels like it’s a cool, September morning. I drink it in, knowing that I may not have more days like this for a while when the weather this month has been unpredictable so far. The clouds in the sky are broken up into little puffs, it’s such a unique design that I have to take a photo. After I get the shot, I start to head straight before remembering that I need to turn right for today’s route.

Birdsong fills the air, mingling with the sound of a dog screeching. It’s a strange symphony of sounds but it disrupts the usual early, morning silence and I welcome it because of that. Most of the leaves on the sidewalk and lawns have been swept away and looking up at the bare branches, I’m reminded that fall is coming to an end soon, but that there is still much beauty to be found in the cyclical nature of the season.

I end up turning around and going down a different route as there are children waiting for the bus at the end of a driveway. It’s interesting to see how they are all clustered together as though they are all part of one community, in light of what Odell says about community in her book, and what makes one part of a community. For a moment, I feel an anthropologist observing a specific demographic within society. It’s a brief observation though, as I decide to go around the block and take the same route I originally planned to take but with a slight detour.

As I approach the main road, the sound of birdsong fades and is instead replaced by the cars passing by. Through the branches, I can see that the sun is halfway up in the sky now. I turn onto the side street that I was originally supposed to take when I saw the driveway, and find that unlike my earlier route, the sidewalks here are covered in piles of colourful leaves. It’s a fascinating contrast to see how streets in the same neighborhood can be so different in the abundance of foliage. As I turn back onto the street beside my house, the sound of birds singing returns, filling the silence that had been there before. It’s another contrast that reminds me of how subtle the diversity in nature can be and where it is concentrated.

November 20, 2020

As I step outside, I hear what sounds like ducks quacking though I can’t say for sure if they are. A car drives past and one of the neighbors is taking out garbage. The sky is a light blue and as I look up at the sky, I see a row of pale pink clouds. From my perspective they look like tufts of cotton candy. I immediately snap a picture and I continue on my way. For a minute, I worry that I’m accidentally going the wrong way and after assessing what other routes there are, realize that I am actually, on track with my walking schedule.

It’s a clear morning. There is no hazy fog blanketing the streets and the nearly cloudless sky makes today feel more like a September morning. It very might have been a September morning were it not for the fact that the vast majority of trees have lost their leaves, with only a few left that still have bits of their foliage left on them. I pass by one of these trees and the leaves that are still on it, stand straight on the tips of the branches. It makes me think of a sword. I pass by some trees on a neighbor's lawn that while decorative, look as though the blossoms are made of frost and butterflies. In the distance, I glimpse the pale pink line of the sun rising and I start walking faster as though I am chasing after it.

Today’s route takes me uphill. I walk slowly and while I’m wide awake, I still feel weary as I ascend up the hill. Yet the trek is worth it as I look to my right and see a blaze of golden clouds streaking through the sky. It truly is a sight to behold and it looks as though it’s the sun's halo.

As I continue down the path, I notice a cluster of pink clouds dotting the sky. I take a picture as they remind me of floating islands. Up ahead of me, I decide to take a slight detour and venture down a side street to my left. I turn back around only to stand face-to-face with the sight of the sun’s golden rays bursting over the horizon through the trees. If I hadn’t taken the detour, I wouldn’t have seen the sun rise from a new angle and I believe that by veering off course to gain deeper insight is something I’ve continually been learning from my walks in nature.