When doubt sneaks in
A droplet of rain hangs off a branch
I’ve been casting about, trying to settle on a topic for this newsletter, but my thoughts keep being hijacked by the scandal and horror of international news. Quite frankly, writing about nature-connection feels pointless. At times like this, I can easily get lost in doubt. I forget about the hundreds of stressed, anxious people I have shepherded into the woods, witnessing their tension melt away and their shining eyes, living proof that it helped. I forget that I might find a kernel of truth or meaning in my own interactions with nature.
The reminder comes when I find myself watching jerky raindrops dribbling in spasms down the window. The view of the garden is obscured and changed behind wobbly stripes of water and glass. Suddenly, I have an idea. I set myself the challenge of going for a walk and finding ways to look at the world through a different lens, hoping this might change my perspective and release me from my mental funk.
On a muddy path by a tributary of the River Holme I distract myself, peeping through holes in trees, looking at the world through the prism of a raindrop and admiring the reflections in the river. It’s nice, but it doesn’t shift the feeling of heaviness I carry. I give up and decide to stop searching for an answer and let my mind wander with my feet.
A hole through a tree with gnarly splitting bark
Of course, when I gave up, that was when it happened. As is often the case, it was a bird that stole my attention and offered a way out of my mental rut. A little wading bird with a grey body and black and brown upperparts darted along the water’s edge and hid behind vegetation. I waited for it to reappear. It was a Water Rail, not much bigger than a blackbird with a deeper body, long pink legs and a long red beak.
This small wading bird is secretive and shy, and it’s only the second time I’ve ever seen one. I snatched several views of the bird dashing back and forth between the cover of tree roots and overhanging grasses on the muddy bank. In between sightings I noticed sparks of orange and gold feathers in the drab landscape, as robins and goldfinches foraged for insects and seeds.
Turning for home, I realised the Water Rail had opened the door to a state of wonder and delight. The hard bit had been persuading myself to go outside, to see what would happen. Today, with the help of a Water Rail, I had managed to do something that made me feel lighter and more able to cope, more resilient.
Maybe there is something in this nature connection lark after all?
Water Rail Photo credit: Chris van Rijswijk