When manmade noise abates and the whispers of nature become musical expressions in simplicity, the question of dimension arises, only because the line between sleeping and waking is more apparent then.
In contrast, the veils between the worlds are very thin. It must be dusk.
Walking down the trail, time, even seasons, are elusive among the majestic Redwoods and loyal Madrones. Mere minutes separate us from the city drones, yet this walk is like a trip into before when the sounds of horses hooves pounded out the smells of earthen moisture dwelling underneath the dust. In a moment, it can shift the obsession of achievement into accidental vulnerability and soft focus.
With a fast and steady pace, the heart rate quickens, challenging oxygen uptake, ultimately stimulating the endorphins of any hiker, elite or novice.
Try a sauntering pace, take time to look up before the light is stolen by night. Redwood branches and foliage scrape the sky–the view is dizzying–carving out a kaleidoscope of shapes and tones. These old souls somehow influence consciousness.
And the luxury of drawing breath goes mostly unnoticed, yet eventually opens a door allowing fragrance to sachet through the senses. Gentle as the breeze, it flows in and then out again.
The aging eucalyptus tree creaks like a rusty hinge on an old farm gate in the gloaming wind, always mysteriously half open. Coyote and bobcat eyes peer out from within the brush on the ridge top as humans depart and the lifeblood of this sanctuary, everything authentic, waits for the footsteps to cease.
Nature’s daily expiration crosses time, cooling the light sheen of warmth and moisture on skin, now thin with sensation. Intrinsic excitement explodes into goose bumps, frosting its surface as this coupling of life’s forces gives birth to enchantment.
Night has come.