It was getting late as the sun aimed for the sea in the west. The weekend was quickly coming to a close. I suddenly had the urge to escape to one of my favorite places - a hidden canyon whose trails knew me well - a place I felt I could walk blindfolded and still see.
Only two hours remained before stars awoke to gaze down on a nocturnal world. Soon after I had left my car and was upon the trail - I started to sense something strange - something odd. Perhaps I should be saying - I sensed my lack of senses.
Here I was - late in the day - at a time when all nature opens her lungs and fills the air with life, with song, whether it be the beautiful whistle of a bird, or the chirp of a cricket - it is the song of nature.
My mind swirled with the thoughts of the day gone by and it was this day that led me to this escape - this canyon whose trails knew me well.
I looked high into the sycamores' crowns - its branches cradling a sleepy sky - but where were the birds - their songs, their chatter. A voice within me suddenly stopped me to say, "Listen, it's a Wren Tit." "No," I said. "It can't be. That's a Towhee no doubt." For that moment I could hear.
But soon I started to look inward again - thinking over the day's events. The day was in a large way, a sad day, but in another way - it was a day of beginning. A day of strengthening bonds. The canyon sounds were drowned out as tears fought their way out of eyes and into the the cool air - now rushing down the hillsides to greet me at the canyon bottom. I actually felt this coolness, but something too was missing here. These early evening breezes always greet the traveler with a potpourri of scents - smells of drying spring and summer grasses, of hillside fennel, of creekside willows and mulefat. it is the smell of nature which always pleases me and surprises me at my ability to smell so many scents.
I noted in my journal at the send of my hike how I missed the feel of the soft earth under my boots and the color of the sunset. My emotions were too wound up to allow my senses to come alive.
On the trail, let go and let nature sink in.
from “All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten
Most of what I really need to know about how to live, and what to do, and how to be, I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top the graduate school mountain, but there in the sand box at nursery school.
These are the things I learned. Share everything. Play fair. Don’t hit people. Put things back where you found them. Clean up your own mess. Don’t take things that aren’t yours. Say you are sorry when you hurt somebody. Wash your hands before you eat. Flush. Warm cookies and cold milk are food for you. Live a balanced life. Learn some and think some and draw some and paint and sing and dance and play and work everyday.
Take a nap every afternoon. When you go out in the world, watch for traffic, hold hands, and stick together. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the plastic cup? The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why. We are like that.
And then remember that book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: LOOK! Everything you need to know is there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation, ecology, and politics and the sane living.
Think of what a better world it would be if we all, the whole world, had cookies and milk about 3 o’clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap. Or we had a basic policy in our nation and other nations to always put things back where we found them and clean up our own messes. And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out in the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together.
So true. Peace.
