I’m walking in a sea of green, barefoot. Nothing has been maintained for years, and my feet disappear into nature’s bosom. As I walk, I feel a stone strike the inner arch of my foot. I continue walking as if nothing has happened. Nothing has or will bother me. My eyes stay fixed on my destination. From here, the true magnitude of the sky is esclipled — in fact, my vision allround is obscured. The density of the flora could convince me that nothing lies beyond this spot. Even the sun is struggling to participate in my slice of the Earth. I’m wearing corduroy pants, and the bottom edge of my pant legs are damp from the fresh dew. Similarly, my shirt has dampened with sweat — heavy, but more than barabled. I continue to feel as fresh as Spring itself. I could have just swapped pollen with a honey bee — maybe become a part of nature myself. At any second, I could peacefully melt and mesh with the soil. I could be food for the simering seeds of the new year. These feelings engulf me; they mix with the sweat now forming on my chest. I don’t feel “one with nature” — rather nature is one with me. It extends from my body. A purple mist radiates from my presents. It labels this bit of land — and more importantly, life as my own. I am in the driver’s seat. I am in control. Yet, this moment can only be felt and captured in the reflection of an overgrowth. What is really happening here? I’m just walking in the woods. These thoughts come and go as quick as reading a sentence — lost in an instant. My feet continue to move, and I continue to muse in my own being.
The reality is that there is something foreign here. In this pocket of nature, something isn’t right. I am not just a being that exists; I live to validate my existence. Dominion. While I control matter, the things I can see and touch and hold and destroy, my thoughts control me. A continuous stream of chatter. I am a husk of a man. Every breath is one I regret. How much has time distorted? Every second dragged out by the peanut gallery, makes seconds turn to hours in my walk. I have goals. My goal right now is within sight. I’m walking underwater and might get pulled further downstream. This is a battle of will — but much like sleep, the harder I try yada yada yada. I begin to think about my legs. This is a thought process I’ve had before — of how they take me place to place. They never complain, they never ask questions, and for the most part; I think of a destination, and they take me there. I appreciated my legs… in as much a way as you can. At this moment, they lead me to my desire. A clashing of sword and shield, the anthesis to my aura. An abstraction, enigma, outside my comprehension. I seek to know all. Biology, chemistry, physics, mathematics; all fall within rules. Concrete things that exist on pen and paper. Sociology is outside my field of expertise. It’s a dichotomy, a thorned rose. It carries grace, while I stomp like an ogre. Have I really been walking that loud? I brush against every weed but only notice it now. Is it that noticeable? The sound is more than audible. I suddenly feel the desire to groom myself. I’m a wild animal trying to impress a mate.
Time is now moving as normal — scratch that, this isn’t normal. She moves in slow motion. Her figure bends in a comforting way. If the breeze picked up, she could disappear like the subtlety of my breath against the godrays. The vegetation and foliage bends and warps; it is given new life from her presence. My reaction is diametric. My brain is undervolted. Thoughts slur together, and I am intoxicated. Approaching a woman is a lot like approaching a cliff. Your perspective changes in an instant. You become incompassed in the vastness of the surroundings. False steps are easy and deadly; and I feel sick.