MindfulL
My sneakers grind against the sand-strewn pavement which is damp from the morning dew. It is early, the sun not yet above the trees and I shiver a little. Though fall is still several weeks away, there are signs of it everywhere: leaves tinged with red, the chill in the morning breeze, the reemergence of forgotten shadows as the sun hangs lower on the horizon. The dogs go at different paces, my body twisted awkwardly as one trots ahead of me and the other walks slowly behind. I usually spend this part of my walk (the boring part) learning new Icelandic words on my language app, but today I don’t feel like it. This daily walk is a task, and like all the others on my list, it is something to get done so I can move onto the next thing. The dogs need the exercise as do I, but I consider this a chore, so I use the time productively, puzzling through work challenges or parenting challenges or scheduling challenges.
I mentally review my list of to-dos and appointments for the day, then my thoughts wander, my inner voice providing a stream of consciousness that occupies me until we reach the path on the far side of the cove.
This late in the summer, the path is overgrown, the shrubs on either side towering over me. Leafy, wet tendrils graze my legs, my arms, my face. I break through cobwebs that crisscross the trail, ruining in seconds what an industrious spider labored over through the long night. The scent of the sweet, wet, earth mixes with the salty air, and I breathe deeply, closing my eyes for a moment to savor the fragrance. I continue through an arched tunnel of greenery, a magical spot about which I want to write a story but the premise of it eludes me. Emerging from the dense growth, the cove lies before me, shouldered by a brackish pond on one side and opening to the vast Atlantic on the other.
This is my favorite part of the walk, the part where I try to be present, the part where I am full of gratitude for where I live. As I pick my way across the rocks I make sure I stop to take in the view. Boon Island Lighthouse stands tall and narrow in the distance. Small waves break quietly in the cove. A lobster boat chugs by. A large group of ducks is gathered, bobbing idly, soaking in the sun.
Movement pulls my eye toward the pond. A Great Blue Heron takes flight, then lands near the tall grass by the water’s edge. A snake hangs from its beak, writhing in an attempt to break free. I didn’t know that herons ate snakes. I watch in wonder as the lanky bird works to get the reptile down.
Having made our way to the opposite side of the cove, we turn toward home, flushing an osprey from a tree overhead. The path follows a narrow channel between two ponds, wildflowers blooming on each side. Recent rain has created an overflow from one pond to the other, and water bubbles across the path like a stream. I close my eyes again, this time to listen rather than smell, the sound of the moving water making my shoulders drop from my ears and my jaw unclench. While the dogs have a drink, the osprey swoops by, so close I can hear the beat of its wings. I traverse the stream, searching for rocks to hop across, but wind up with soaked shoes and socks. We continue through the woods, my steps now with a distinct squish, and eventually reach the driveway. I let the dogs loose and approach the house. The sun is now hidden, clouds hanging just above the treetops. A breeze stirs and the cloud cover reveals itself to be fog, which blows down into the yard like a specter, shrouding our surroundings in a hazy mist, the scent of briny ocean overtaking my senses.
Inside, I hang the leashes on their hooks, pry off my wet shoes and socks, and take stock. I feel good. I feel very good. I wonder: by considering this walk a chore, by insisting on being productive instead of mindful, have I done myself a disservice? Can a simple change in mindset and habit turn this daily event into something I look forward to rather than something to check off my list? Are these results able to be reproduced?
I look out the window just as the wind swoops down and lifts the fog from the yard in a swirling cloud. The sun reemerges. I have tomorrow to find out; and the next day, and the day after that.
Better add it to my list.