Pandemic salve, solace, and salvation have manifested in the form of forested park walks these last nearly four months. Hardly a day has passed without their denouement. Emotional fatigue, battles of the mind, of the heart, were almost always dissected in the cocoon of leafy branches.
Yesterday, a scrambled, upside-down Monday resulted in it being too late for an evening walk in the park by the time we were ready. Instead, we opted for the next best thing: traversing the cul-de-sacs of the suburban hollow that we call home—one border being a less developed section of said park.
As we climbed the neighborhood’s one hilly street last night, we saw, again, in the small common area. There. Between two banks of cottages. There where fireflies bob up and down, most low-to-the ground, a few zipping their light bodies much higher—all illuminating and dazzling June and July dusks.
As our back-leg muscles stretched, we breathed heavier and plodded higher to where the tree frogs’ screech rose in volume as we neared the trees they’d claimed as evening perch. At the top of the hill, we could hear a corresponding chorus on the opposite side of the hollow. Accompanying them, two species of birds tweeted an echoing lullaby. First, one melody followed by silence. And, then, the other bird’s quiet response song. As we made our way back down the hill, a hoot owl, embedded deep within in the forested hollow, concluded the evening’s live creature performance with a baritone two-note aria….
Gratitude. How could we feel anything but gratitude for the low 70s temps on a day in which temps soared beyond 90? For the light show and symphony of winged creatures and their four-legged reptilian species? Pandemic salve, solace, and salvation from the forest, indeed. Repeat performance, please! I’ve booked my front row seat for this evening. My anxious, hungry heart can hardly wait….
image: #LizetteGarden —a heart rock from Maine gifted to me
