Reset

Reset

I’ve found myself near the water's edge again. It draws me in, pulls me from myself, like a deep calling from the deep parts of me, to stop what I’m doing and to walk alongside its edge. Today I walk near a river, where I step over stones and roots of trees from the woodland to my right. As I head downstream. I watch the water rush past, as it tumbles over rocks and traverses through inlets and coves. The spring sun shines through the branches of the beech and oak trees, leaving mottled shadows by my feet. The warmth of the sun kisses my face as the trees get sparser, and the reflections on the water become brighter. 

Walking by the water for me is like pressing the reset button. I power down, and pull the plug on the noise that fills my mind. Instead exchanging it for the subtle swoosh of the water as it snakes its way past my feet on its ongoing journey. It doesn’t stop, but continues to flow. More slowly in places, and picks up speed as it heads down over rock faces. 

The reset …