the Narrative
Allow me to share what I noticed this morning.
Having a small breakfast, eating some bread, I realized I’d left my phone upstairs. For a moment I hesitated — should I go for my walk in the woods without it? My mind immediately began its familiar theater: what if there’s an emergency, what if I need to capture something beautiful I see.
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What a beautiful round shape has this Aspen leaf, almost perfect.
The forest after last night’s rain felt completely washed clean. Fresh air, the smell of wet soil, and something I hadn’t expected — the sand paths showed everything. Every footprint was gone, erased by the water, replaced by this delicate droplike pattern pressed into the ground everywhere I looked.
I had imagined I’d be alone out there, maybe encountering one or two other early walkers. But what I noticed were the fresh tracks of many, runners’ footprints, dog prints, the impressions of walking shoes. So many had already been here before me, a whole community I never see but share this space with.
And there was my mind again, trying to turn this realization into some meaningful insight, filing it away as “something to remember” rather than just… walking among all these invisible companions, phone forgotten, completely here.
