The view from atop a fallen tree. (Photo from personal collection)
It seems to me that a quiet walk is one of the best ways to clear the mind. And, though I don't like to think of myself as a misanthrope, the more secluded the path, the better. It's just my way of getting away from the noise of humanity. That's where most of my problems come from. So yeah, the appeal of being alone is part of my love for nature. And yesterday I went for a walk beside the river, Great Ouse, some of that river which passes through my hometown, and immersed myself in the peace. And I came back delightfully tired and refreshed.
When I am out in nature I am no longer caught up in the nets of monetary, familial, and other day-in-day-out struggles. And though life and death, and everything in between, happens out there in nature, I find quiet there for myself mostly. The struggles of the birds are not my struggles, and I can selfishly enjoy their song. Of course, in return, I try to do what I can for those winged and feathered creatures. To do that though, I must go into those green spaces where trees and flowers grow. Now, after reading a little into scientific explanations of the peace that we derive from nature, I understand something of why I find so much out there in those quieter places. But often I just get lost in the romance and the poetry of a natural scene, rather than the scientific explanation. That's for later, when I turn to the guide books and the internet.
Riverside view - water reflecting sky. (Photo from personal collection)
I stopped for a while, beside that river, and I sat, just to see and hear whatever was there. Now and then, ripples would appear on the surface, and I would watch a while to see if something surfaced. When nothing did, my attention came back to the world above water. Songs were being sung from trees all around me. A Blackbird (Turdus merula) sang a slow and rich melody, while a Chiffchaff (Phylloscopus collybita) called out its name in a two note repetition. From the opposite side of the river came another two note call - a Great tit (Parus major) ringing out a song. And, adding its voice to the choir, a Green woodpecker (Picus viridis) called out its slightly mocking laugh.
Mayflies, part of the ancient group Palaeoptera, which also includes dragonflies, danced above the surface of the river, and along the embankment. They moved gracefully up and down, as though on invisible wires. On the opposite bank, a tree grows out over the water, and light reflected from the surface of the river played upon its bark. I turned my head, and a Woodpigeon (Columba palumbas) was busily and quietly plucking blossoms in a tree not too far away.
And then there was me, not too far away from all the grey and glass of the town centre, but far enough that people were a distant background noise, and none were in sight for a while. It was a cool and pleasant afternoon.
Fishing line and floats found discarded. (Photo from personal collection)
Sometimes, when I am out walking, I find myself thinking it a shame there aren't more people out amongst the trees and by the river. However, then I notice that, rather than flowers adding their vibrant colours to the grass verges, it is plastic and aluminium that poke out from amongst the green. Or I stumble upon a pile of unwanted odds and ends. Or, as yesterday, I find fishing line and floats left by the water. I hadn't planned on any litter picking, but I found it quite easy to bag up the offending litter and dispose of it properly. I am that odd sort of person who can find random bits and bobs have found their way into his backpack, and an empty sandwich bag that had no purpose being in my bag served as an ideal place to keep the line before I could dispose of it.
I disposed of the line fairly easily. And, as I said, given that I had not gone out with the intention of doing any litter picking, and I had not taken the line out there myself, it really rather raised the question as to what stopped the fishers from disposing of the line themselves. I mean, given the ease with which I was able to undertake the task myself, I can only come to the conclusion that they were either inconsiderate, lazy, or stupid. Perhaps all three. But maybe I am being mean, and some rare emergency pulled them from their fishing and they were in a rush, and therefore forgetful . . .
Anyway, that was really the only mar on the Spring riverside walk. There was other rubbish, of course, and some of that rubbish was depressingly close to bins - we love to pat ourselves on the back for being at the very tippy top of the food chain, and embrace that position to excuse our disgusting laziness. Some of us, anyway. The rubbish is a problem. Maybe next time I will pack some plastic bags and gloves into my backpack, so that I can give something back to those stretches of path that have given me all they have.
Before you go, can I ask that you consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi.com.
I resist allowing ad space here, hoping to generate conversation, rather than clicks and sales. With support from readers, I can write freely, with my only concern being that I write with consideration for my own experiences and research, and not with the binds of commercial and corporate influence.
If you can, please make a small donation through ko-fi.com, where you will also find more of my writing. But, if you cannot leave a tip at this time, you can also like this post, leave a comment, or share it on your preferred social media platform. And, if you really like what you have read, you can even subscribe!
Thank you for reading and being a great supporter!
No comments:
Post a Comment