(Most of this post was written during the wee hours my last night of camping last weekend.)
I’m awake. The forest is dark and quiet. In the distance, the sound of truck traffic on the state highway that runs through the state forest is audible. For the moment I am not sleepy. The forest seems very still. I sit awake awhile, unbothered by the wakefulness itself, but it does tend to force me to reflect, and there is no where to go, and no distraction handy.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I sit with my thoughts for a very long while, sorting the useful learning and interesting questions from the slop, earworms, and nonsense. Somewhere an owl calls into the night. She sounds very nearby. I am on alert when I hear something scuffling in the leaves next to the tent. Something small, busy, and I wonder whether it is trying to find a way in. I hear… something… the tent is hit by some sort of glancing blow in the darkness. I freeze, not exactly frightened, but my heart is pounding. I hear the squeak and the silence at the same time I hear something brushing against the outside of the tent, and then… the quiet returns after the sound of… wings? Some time awhile later, I hear the owl call into the night from some further distance…
I sit in the darkness for a long while, just me and my thoughts. There’s a lot to contemplate in life. It’s healthy to take real time for that, I’m glad I do. I make notes for later writing, for other conversations, and for further reflection. This time is for me. My thoughts, this moment, and the few things that cross my awareness that I’d really like to share are very much at risk of getting lost in the volume of thoughts that have accumulated and even grown stale trapped in my mental “buffer”. Making a few notes helps prevent me losing track of one idea or another from this large quantity of thoughts. 😆
After some long while, I sigh to myself and wrap this up, and put my restless mind to rest. It’s still hours before daylight. I’ll begin again then.
…
Here it is, a different now, a morning days later, and I’m looking back on those solitary moments alone in the darkness on a mild summer night with a certain fondness. I’m happy to be home, sure, but the fondness for that quiet solitude isn’t about how I feel about home nearly as much as it is about how I feel about the quiet solitude.
My morning, this morning, began vexatiously. I guess I’m already over it, but the feeling lingers like a bad taste. I look out into the peculiarly brownish, orangish dawn sky from the side of the trail. It rained during the night, but it wasn’t enough to rinse the smoke of distant fires from the sky. I sit with my thoughts, feeling cross and strange, and wondering what to do about any of it. I’ve certainly got options; the menu of life’s “strange diner” is vast.
I sigh to myself. For me, today is another day in corporate purgatory. I hope my Traveling Partner wakes feeling rested and capable.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m walking the path I choose. I can choose differently. I sit with that thought awhile. I watch the sky lighten. Soon enough, it’ll be time to begin again.
Evening Light 