Today I walked with the intention to learn about risk and safety.
I had planned the path I was going to take—the service road off to the left. I had taken it before, liked the terrain. Soon I came upon a small opening in the side woods that was new to me; I had a choice to make. I crouched, stepped through the circular space; a primitive path surprisingly free of briars stretched before me. I walked forward, unsure where I was headed. No compass; no whistle in case of getting lost. A small clutch in my throat.
I noticed things fallen—branches, leaves, long brown pine needles like upside down V’s, patches of moss. And how they were held—by another branch, by the earth. Leaning against, balanced on, at rest. A strong wind could shift the arrangement at any time, but everything had a place, whatever their stage of being.
I noticed the dragonflies, darting here, there. Often one would land atop a jutting branch or robust spire of weed, that out-in-the-open perch offering a vantage point at the price of vulnerability.
I noticed that just when I needed to turn back to be on time to rejoin my group, the path came to a natural end. The dense woods ahead would have to wait for another day, and different gear.
About to the spot where I entered, I stopped, stood still. I looked up and around me, listened to the deep silence, the distant breath of ocean waves. The first swallowtail of the morning paid a generous visit. I was all of it; it was all in me. I looked down at the sandy dirt. A neon green with black dragonfly landed on a leafy twig just beyond my left ankle. Leaving my camera in my pocket, I bowed to take in its magnificent form. A few minutes into this meeting, I noticed a yellow bee aiming for that bare ankle. It was abuzz, flying in slow motion, sideways and forward all at once. I remembered the caution not to run from a bee, and I didn’t want to kill it even if I could, so I just bent low, whispering, ‘please don’t bite.’ As I uttered this, the dragonfly launched itself, flying the inches between my ankle and the nearing bee. Intercepted, the bee veered off. I watched as the dragonfly flew out and around in a full circle, re-landing at its same place on the twig. Astonished, I asked myself, ‘Did I really see what just happened?’
I returned to my group to share the fruits of today’s noticing, and the maybe not-so-incredible story of risk and safety, and its reminder to trust the providence walking with us.
Photos and reflection by Amy W., July 11, 2015
This tree reminded me of the resilience of nature and of man. “There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.” Photo and reflection by Mary W.
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