Rat race

Maybe any quiet location away from it all will do for a personal battery charge. But favourite places in the veld soon become havens from habit. Not too far from home, and not too popular a spot. For an escape place is not one where others are likely to go. 

“My space” ritual settles the spirit in anticipation during the walk getting there. Engage the lower gear among the cool of the leaves, the bird sounds, the colours of the grasses. Cognitive overload is shed without notice. Breathing slows, nerves calm, to do list disappears. Vistas soothingly replace walls and worries as nature widens elbow room for the soul. 

Speaking of soul!  Such a thing isn’t even missed when the wind spreads contentment quietly over existence. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with soul. It adds importance to stuff that lurks, springs surprises. Those irritating, significant things that bother inside or hover nearby.

Nature, on the other hand, fills emptiness with all sorts of innocuous bits of living clutter that disturbs no peace. (Unless, occasionally, it bites! But not so often.) Nature allows for leaving importance behind, turns it into irrelevance. Deservedly! 

And speaking of leaves, they brush against, and turn every which way, without shouting unwelcome words. Leaves in the bush make up books that dish out so much meaning without words. Dwell on that for a moment.

Now drink some water! And get a move on. For you’re a rat! And you’re late. So do what rats do. They race. Check the time!