In a world where urban areas expand increasingly, spaces like these become scarce. Not too far from the city - the station, the traffic, the airport – was that tiny haven, a secure neighborhood that lay among trees. Homes were big, tremendous gardens separating yet connecting them. Though there were still, here or there, a few spare parcels of land. Undefinable as they were while trees grew wildly among thorns and bushes. That was a haven not only to those lucky few living there but also to animals.
That neighborhood's roadmap equaled a number of avenues: some were smaller, some bigger. Oak trees on each side of the avenues, grass replaced the pavement and there were several roundabouts to create the junction in that labyrinth of pathways.
Those were what's commonly called the days of the old, at that time, though, every day appeared as never-ending. That picture of a new academic year would hang as a burden in front of me, and to be renewed every year. Certainly that sort of a feeling eloped as the days went by and everyday life brought its load of motivation, friendships and the like. Still present, though, was that morning hug and wave when the door shut closed. That lonely walk to reach the roundabout where the bus was to pick us up.
Many of my friends lived in these same avenues and we would meet up at the regular place. Some parents drove them to the bus stop. Not I. That was the ritual walk across the avenue, all alone. Same in the morning, same in the evening. Had that been a sign back then, did that behavior have an influence on my personality?
Were these moments to introduce me to solitude and its positive omens? Only years later would I learn about these famous British poets of the eigteenth century, their romantic approach to solitude. Milton considered it as essential to be on one's own, loneliness was linked to inspiration rather than to sadness.
Today, should someone act differently or stand out of the crowd, society would judge harshly. Were these moments to shape an introvert personality?
Not exactly, really, but I enjoyed such moments. Walking by yourself, acting differently from the folks surrounding you. That may be hard at first, especially when young and everyone needs to act as if they had to fit in a frame. Right from the start I acted differently, did it make me feel different or did it set me apart from my fellows? Maybe. It indeed produced a shift in my life – it let me become someone new.
Suddenly a sunny scenery lay in front of me, sunrays, popping up here and there, beyond the slopes and the trees. High in the mountains where the air is fresh and nature surrounds you more than ever. In the back of my mind are many of these lonely walks be it during fall or on snowy grounds, rainy, windy or sunny days. I loved to leave my family behind and set off for a journey in the woods. Sometimes based on my own landmarks, sometimes simply enjoying rides and discovering. These walks were enthralling, amidst nature, the very meeting with your own self, in places so new and so rich.
My knees began aching as steep slopes followed the stretch of the valley. So dark at times, among the pines, but high above lay that clear blue ceiling. My vision focused on the immediate, trying to anticipate every move, I ran over rocks and roots. A few steps ahead there was a fox and its siblings. I reduced my speed and tried to hide away. The color of the fur mingled with that of the forest, dead leaves and moss.
Ahead there was the light, a little parcel of grass, a few rocks and mud. The light was so strong, so fierce, it was almost blinding. I kept moving, running ahead, watching out for each of my steps. Far below there was the village, houses so small in the distance. There were few people out on the streets, some cars whizzed by, such as beetles, each with a different color.
That humming sound of a buzz was annoyingly close to my ears and wouldn't let go. A streneous sound that wouldn't disappear. I could feel it so thoroughly in me, that sound literally overwhelmed me completely. My heart beat stronger and that was when I realized the sound led me back to reality.
Now sweat was pouring out of me and I could sense as the tension kept on growing. That feeling of falling was the last picture of that sequence. A feeling rather of stalling as I could see the pictures moving backwards, like memories, such as photographs disappearing in a shoe box. That box was to be hidden and kept away for years, in a safe and sound surrounding.
Then I opened my eyes and stared into the dark room. The waking panic was gone, I wiped the sweat off my face and wearly looked back over the years gone.
April, 11 2017
© 2017 Matt Oehler
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