Reflections

By Paul Kandarian

The year 2020 is in the rearview, thankfully – one of America’s and the world’s worst. Happy are many of us here in the United States, like around 80 million of us, who at the end of 2020 felt a giant weight lift off our hearts and souls as we look forward to 2021 and four years of sane, capable leadership.

And as humans are wont to do, it’s a time for reflection. Inward of course, but often triggered by what’s outward.

As we age, especially in the US with our sadly and often tragically image-driven media telling us what so-called perfection looks like, we often don’t like what we see reflected in the mirror. But in nature’s mirror – a placid body of water being the best example – we see the very old reflected, things there for countless numbers of years, the sky, the sun, the trees, the landscapes on shore. And we humans marvel in the beauty of those reflections.

I hike quite often, all times of year in temperatures hot and cold, and am fascinated by mirror images, the source of them and the recipients, the sun resolute and implacable above, dancing like a living portrait on the water below. A bright evergreen tree branch dangling over the water seemingly staring down curiously at its darker self beneath. Clouds one shape above, other shapes below depending on wind and current. The water itself a changing canvas for nature’s solar brush, ever evolving, shifting colors and shapes, all of it open to the beholder’s interpretation, evoking moods of whimsy and joy and inspiration.

Some who love to walk do so with the intensity of mission, eager to get steps in, barreling down a path, concrete or earthen, with numbers in mind, steps, miles, time. When I walk the woods, it’s almost as if nature herself puts her hands on my shoulders to hold me back to slow me down and take long, loving, lingering looks around.

Weird thing about measuring steps and walking. Walking is now a specific form of exercise. There are walking clubs, walking apps, walking shoes, walking pants, walking gloves, walking hats. People walk with a look of fierce determination, as if getting somewhere fast is the goal, not the journey. Walking became “a thing.” Well, I’m old so I remember when walking’s thing was just “transportation.”

So I’m not a fast walker, by design, taking time, slowing down, smelling the earth, watching the trees bend in the breeze, the critters large and small that call the woods I visit their home. I think that’s a great reward for our sense of smell, pitiful as it is to the creatures who need theirs to survive, but rewarding nonetheless.

When I walk the woods, it’s almost as if nature herself puts her hands on my shoulders to hold me back to slow me down and take long, loving, lingering looks around

I love sitting in nature hearing a slow roar build in the distance, the wind, as it grows louder as it nears, cutting through trees, making them sway like long, lean dancers. And then when it washes over me, hot or cold, humid or dry, I inhale deeply and swear I can not just smell the wind, but taste it, too, taste the trees, the wood, the leaves, the dirt. Nature. Honestly, if you let yourself, you can taste nature just by… being.

And of late, I’ve become a mushroom hunter, obsessed with it in fact, and that consumes much of my time in the forest, stopping to find them, feeling them, breaking them open to inspect, picking out the bugs, smelling them, taking tiny tastes to spit out, poring over a mushroom field guide, posting pictures online for the real experts to dissect and determine.

All of that just slows me down, to reflect, take time, enjoy. Mother Nature took an excruciatingly long time to create this marvelous portrait we enjoy for free, so why do many of us just want to blow through it? I so enjoy sitting on a downed tree trunk just… being.

So instead of counting steps, maybe we should count photos taken, or plants or animals spotted, or cloud formations wisping into whatever we want them to be, or deep thoughts thunk in the blissful depth of nature.

Or honest reflections made.

You see, there’s something to be said for reflections in the mirror, manmade or natural. If we look long enough at them, we’ll always find something we love.

Paul Kandarian is a lifelong area resident and, since 1982, has been a profession writer, columnist, and contributor in national magazines, websites, and other publications.