I went for a hike yesterday at a local park. Although situated within the city of Austin, the trail winds through land that feels remote. The path is shady, and it winds over a creek in numerous places. The occasional breeze ruffled my hair as I wandered over sun-dappled ground. Because it’s located near water, the trail featured a variety of vegatation, including moss, ferns, and water-loving Cedar Elms and Sycamores. There were also Texas Mountain Laurels, Twisted Yucca and Agarita.
While hiking, I became absorbed in the task of locomotion and would forget to see my surroundings. Now and again I would remember to bring myself back to the world, to pause and notice the colors, textures, and smells around me. At one point there was a pool of trickling water nestled by the hill. Dozens of yellow-jackets were convened on rock by the water’s edge. It was fascinating to watch them. I could only assume they were attracted to the water; I’d not seen a convention of bees before!
Even in Texas, there’s a scent in the air that suggests autumn. Although the temperatures continue to climb into the upper 80s, the light is softer, the glare less intense. The scent of autumn lingers — clearer air, a whiff of spice and musk that exudes from decaying leaves. The other night as I took a walk around the block in my neighborhood, I heard and owl. I was delighted. I stood still, with my ear cocked skyward, and every few minutes I was rewarded with a melancholy “Who-who-WHO.” Living in suburbia, one does not encounter much wildlife, and there was something redeeming about hearing this owl, knowing that it chose to rest (perhaps live) in a tree in someone’s back yard. Perhaps we have not crowded out all other creatures.
It is these experiences for which I live. It is the simple pleasure of experiencing life, discovering the grand beauty in the small and ordinary, of learning to see magnificence in the details as well as the expanse — learning to pay attention more often to what’s outside my head.