“Look at a tree, a flower, a plant. Let your awareness rest upon it. How still they are, how deeply rooted in Being. Allow nature to teach you stillness.”
— Eckhart Tolle, Stillness Speaks
When you start thinking in iambic pentameter, it’s a sign you need to go outside and get some air.
This week we covered sonnets in my Structure and Style class and I subsequently spent the last three days racing to write two–one Petrarchan, the other Shakespearean–before our submission deadline yesterday. So obsessed was I with the assignment, I nearly called in a sick day yesterday, but somehow thought, “You see, it’s just this final couplet that’s getting to me,” wouldn’t be a valid excuse.
With both sonnets finally sent off, I took today to give my mind a break. Although I’ve spent the last six months living in Surrey, I’d yet to make it to Richmond Park, famed for its size and the many deer that call it home. I was going to change that (the fact that I hadn’t visited, not the deer).
What will never cease to amaze me about cities and city parks is how swiftly the transition between the two occurs. One moment I’m walking from the bus stop down a generic high street, past news agents and independent grocers and a place called Exclusive Dry Cleaning, the next minute I turn a corner, pass through an iron gate, and am suddenly face-to-face with this strange thing called ‘nature’ I tend to forget exists.
It’s easy when the rest of your time is spent hip-checking your way down crowded sidewalks and having your personal bubble invaded by strangers on the Tube at rush hour.
Within a few minutes of aimless ambling, I realized this wasn’t a complete escape from city life. Several roads in the park permitted cars, so the hum of motors never faded entirely away. There were planes, too, that took off at regular intervals from Heathrow, which couldn’t have been too far away given how close they seemed to be taking off just past the park’s treeline.
But it didn’t seem to faze either me or the rest of those filling the paths. We weren’t after much–just a bit of fresh air and a place to stretch our legs. Some went by horse, making their way through muddy trails; others chased wildly after their dogs, yelling “Ruby! Buster! Stay away from the water!”
Parents pushed babies in prams and held the handlebars of their toddlers’ scooters. They bought cups of hot chocolate and when asked why they couldn’t have ice cream, explained to their children that, “If it was the middle of July and a nice hot day, then we would have bought you an ice cream. On a cold day, it’s nice to have a hot drink.”
Perhaps the most bizarre activity taking place involved various people propelling themselves with poles and thin, wheeled boards strapped onto their feet. It was a strange cross between rollerblading and skiing, one that seemed to require enormous amounts of effort.
Despite the simple joy of being so far from the dank, overheated cars of the Tube, there are two moments that resonated with me the strongest from today. One was stumbling upon a small stand of daffodils in the middle of undergrowth. Although tranquil, the park hadn’t been necessarily colorful–a muted sun had failed to bring the wintry landscape to life–and their presence was welcomed.
The other came on my walk back to the park’s gate. Although content from a few hours outdoors, I was disappointed I hadn’t seen a single deer.
Disappointed, that is, until I looked to my left at a field I’d passed earlier that was now filled with a massive herd. I walked as close as I dared and took in the sight of such grace, the air of protectiveness with which an antlered stag raised his head from feeding and watched me with silent eyes.
And then I walked back up high street and got on the bus to go home, which was blessedly, gloriously uncrowded.
Absolutely love the daffodilla pictures. Oh, wow. And the coffee….missing you!
I miss you, too! We’ll definitely go exploring when you come visit 🙂