#303: The Fungi-Covered Branch
The wonder of walking
I never used to like walking. As a child I always saw it simply as a method of getting from A to B. Or something my parents made me do when I would rather be playing. Walking, it seems, is similar to olives. Something we grow to love as we mature.
Now I walk everywhere, even when I don’t have to. Aside from the cold, rainy or tired days, I like that I walk to work everyday. I arrive with my blood flowing, my head-cleared, and my cheeks glowing.
But my love of walking is not just practical, not just that A to B movement I viewed it as when I was young. I will now “go for a walk”. Not to the shops, or to work. A walk for the sake of walking.
I’m spoilt really, in that there are woods near to my flat, and a river I can meander along easily. This is where I go to clear my head, to think, to get out. While I’m walking I let things stop. I stop checking my phone compulsively. I stop pottering around my flat finding odd jobs to do. I stop feeling guilty for sitting still for too long. And in this clearer mindset, I notice things.
It was on such a walk that I noticed this fungi covered branch.
The day was grey. The trees were generally bare. The river was brown. Nature’s beauty was muffled by the weather. But while walking I am more aware of my surroundings. I take the time to look. And upon this walk I was rewarded for doing so.
The textures on this branch are beautiful, gnarly and ridged. Like hundreds of delicate mermaids’ fins splayed out to be admired. The colours are subtle, but their patterns are intricate. The lines swirl and wave, adding movement to the still branch.
I stopped and I looked.
I felt as if this object, this decorated branch, was a gift given to me by my walk. It felt like a reward for not giving in to the easier, but (for me) less effective forms of relaxation: scrolling down my phone, or telly marathons. This branch said:
“Isn’t walking great? You’d never see this in your living room!”
And I smiled and I was glad. And my head felt clearer and my legs felt tired in a restful way. And I was thankful that somehow I’d grown to love walking, much to the distaste of my younger self.
