The Great Outdoors

So I haven't been writing lately...
Quite the fail on my part.
I just haven't been putting any cohesive thoughts together lately. Nothing really to commit to paper, er, screen. I have the feeling this post isn't going to be much different.

When I was little, I spent my life outside. If I spent a day inside, I felt a little guilty, like I was wasting all the sunshine and the fresh air. It's purpose was to provide a backdrop for all my vast imaginary worlds.

When I was really little, our house had (what seemed to me at the time) really big woods. Thinking back, it must've not been that big or Mom wouldn't have let five year old me tromp around out there unsupervised. But in these woods, I had great adventure. I don't remember that much, except the overwhelming happy feelings of fun, except this one day in which I discovered these random bones. I was completely convinced I'd stumbled on some sort of archaeological breakthrough. The missing link was in my backyard. Looking back, I'm pretty sure they were the toys of my neighbor's dog, T.J.

Now, I rarely go outside unless I'm walking from point A to point B. I'd like to blame it on the cold weather, but it's not that. I just lost the need to go out there somewhere along the way.

In my literature class, the discussion revolves around the properties of nature being conducive to self-discovery. Henry David Thoreau climbs the mountain and comes back down with divine inspiration and insights into the depths of humanity. I have issues buying into this theory. It seems awfully romanticized to me. But I did seem to like the outdoors enough when I was little. I didn't imagine half the things inside as I did in the big woods or the other assorted backyards I would later play in. Does this owe to nature or a child's imagination, though?

Today, I had to walk my cat. (That's another long, boring blog...) I put him on his little cat-sized leash and unleashed him into the wild he so desperately craves. While he was very frustrated to be tied to me instead of his usual manner of running free, he tried to make the most of the rare escapade. While I held onto his leash, forever pulling away from me, I found myself standing at the edge of the woods surrounded by nature.

No divine intelligence made its way through the branches into my waiting brain, but I did feel a little more peaceful than usual. More content. I tried to adopt the look of my cat, sitting serenely but acutely aware, in the middle of his kitty kingdom. He took in every leaf that blew and branch that swayed with keen awareness. Each branch he took care to sniff was of the utmost importance and deserved his complete concentration. While I'm not capable of this level of concentration, I tried to take it all in adequately.

Eventually, my dear pet extracted himself from his leash and dashed off. Because he's not allowed this freedom until the end of the month, I had to chase him through the woods. It's much less glamorous when you're trying to save your cat's $1000 dollar operation and random branches and thorns and unidentified sticky things are attacking you.

So, I finally gathered the animal and corralled him in the pool fence, so at least he'd still get to breath the fresh air. I sat in there with him, reading. I found myself much happier here, with this modern printed book that didn't fall from a tree, than I did standing in the woods. I guess I'm not an adventurer of the woodlands or a vast appreciator of the thing called Nature, like Henry David. I remain stubbornly unashamed of this fact.

But, perhaps, when the weather warms up, I'll set aside some time to go out and play.