Cotton from the willows floats up into the afternoon sun. It’s almost as if the cotton is what makes the clouds — millions of little tufts joining together to form a soft, lofty cumulus cloud. The leaves of the willows are glowing golden in the light. The creek hums down below and a breeze rotates through the beetle ravaged spruce. I lay in the meadow listening. A gray jay calls from high above and some branches breaking here and there sound of something bigger hidden in the shadow of the forest.
In one of my art classes in college we were sent out around town with microphones; the project was to listen. We collected all sorts of sounds and eventually edited them down to bring out even more subtle noises our ears didn’t immediately pick up. It was an exercise in waking up our primal senses. As runners, and as modern humans, we tend to move quickly through the world and rarely do we take the time to listen, and I mean really listen, to what’s around us. As I write this, my eyes looking at the paper instead of the view, I try to listen. Suddenly breaking the elemental sounds comes the siren call of an elk out of the woods.
Hannah Green’s morning view after a night out in her truck. Photo: Hannah Green
As autumn sweeps across the country, I’m sure we are all familiar with the leaf peepers that are scattered along the roadside. I was driving by a band of bright, flaming orange aspen the pullout was full of people out of their cars taking photos. It made me smile that some folks take the time to stop and appreciate the trees when it’s usually the more grandiose peaks that capture peoples’ attention. Like listening, seeing and paying attention to what makes up the landscapes we love is important. It’s how scientists measure climate change and nature writers form such eloquent essays on the love for land.
Each morning I walk over to the gym with my coffee to do my physical therapy exercises for my knee, on which I recently had surgery. It’s not really exercise, but it takes me at least an hour to run through everything. Each day I’ve noticed a little bit of progress, and sometimes it’s as simple as one of the moves feeling more natural, instead of forced.
Sometimes, I feel the slowing down of time. Wondering if I’ll ever not think about my knee. A couple of times someone has said things like, “I feel like you’ve been in that brace forever!” To which I reply, “Yes,” and feel simultaneously discouraged and like I’m not getting anywhere.
But tonight, I was walking home from dinner and a car pulled in as I walked by. My new neighbor down the street, whose name I still don’t even know, said, “I see you walking a little better each day with that thing!”
“Trying!” I replied.
And he made me smile when he said, “Yeah, you are!”
We tend to mark progress in life with big goals, but so much of living is in the little things like cleaning our house, cooking a good meal, watering the houseplants regularly, and nurturing ourselves and our relationships. Perhaps I’m late to the game on this or maybe it’s the fact that I’m getting older. I still like to have big goals, but I recognize it’s the small ones on the daily that keep me going: liking going to the gym to do my physical therapy, just so I can walk a little more normally.
I take my coffee and wander around the corner. The view down valley opens up. Below me, the creek glistens in the warm sun of the morning. I find a flat rock and sit there. The smell of fall, the sunrise glow, the willow leaves showing the season in their amber hue. My senses are full and I feel happy. Content just to be here in the sun.
Call for Comments
Do you find it easy to be grateful for the small things in life?
