Refresh
/The cattle were finished eating and were on their way back to the field along the narrow track through the snow. Ferdinand the bull was the last in line, watching that everyone was there.
They were moving slowly. And then they stopped.
I was following along to collect buckets. And I stopped, too.
And waited.
And waited.
I was standing in cow time. There wasn’t any reason for them to pause that I could see. The hay was waiting (and so were the buckets). But again, they were full and there wasn’t any reason to move ahead. No one at the back was anxiously urging them forward. No one had a schedule, an appointment, things to do. No one was honking. Then slowly, the lead cow started to move and the others gradually followed.
And I collected the buckets.
I realized that Nature has its own rhythm. When I walk on a woodland trail I start out for exercise, walking deliberately. Then I step over a root and bend down to see the mushroom nestled there. Then I walk a little and listen for the sinkhole frogs. Then I walk a little and ..then I’m just walking, enjoying the whole package: breeze, the movement of leaves, the sound of a squirrel scolding, the rush of wings in a fly-by. My speed has slowed to Nature time.
The definition of re-fresh.
What’s wrong with this picture? You’ve spotted it. The realization hit now, in the winter, but the walk I’m thinking of is in the summer. In the winter I walk in my Muck boots up to the edge of the trees and stop.
But amazingly, the same effect happens! I stand there, staring through the trees. I can hear the branches rub against each other (see John Zasada’s upcoming article in the spring Woods Reader). In fact, in the cold air it seems as if sounds are magnified and crisp. The echoes of winter birds and squirrels chase each other through the woods. The longer I stand, the more sound I hear.
And when I look away and turn to come back to the plowed road, I notice a difference. It’s not in what I see – it’s in me. I just hit refresh.