Day 5

It is after 7pm when I finally get to my Sit Spot.  It is a still night.  The breeze is just strong enough to make that sighing noise in the highest branches and to make the trunks sway gently in a sensuous dance, but not strong enough to make the dry leaves rustle.

A few high, fast-moving clouds attempt to conceal the moon, but she won’t let them.  She shines through the cold still air and makes the fresh powder sparkle.

Dogs who live in houses near these woods seem to detect our presence and they bark to make it clear to us that they know we are here.  There is a rhythmic gun-shot noise in the southwest… every two seconds.  What is that?

All in all, it is a peaceful sit.  When I stand to stretch, the nearby trees groan and crack as if they too need to move.

Tomorrow there will be an eclipse.  I wonder if the weather will allow us to see it…

Day 4

It is after six by the time I head out to my Sit Spot.  Sunset was 5:50.  I carry a bag with my head lamp, journal, and pencil.  I won’t need the headlamp for the walk.  Light pollution from the city reflected from snow will provide sufficient light for that.  But in case I want to write in my journal…

Conditions are tenuous…  The sky can’t decide if it wants to rain or snow.  Puddles can’t decide if they want to be frozen solid, slushy, or neither.  Black bits of path can’t decide if they are high-traction gravel or glare ice.  Some of the snow-covered ice provides gravel-like traction, and on other patches I slip and slide.  One bank of snow supports my weight.  At the next I take a bad fall and must retrieve my foot from a knee-deep hole.  The walk to the Spot seems to take forever.  The moon peeks through a cloud to encourage me and I walk on thinking I may not need the headlamp to journal.

But I do.  I settle down at the base of my tree.  Journal and pencil ready, I turn on the headlamp.  I write 6 or 7 words when suddenly there is a bright flash of light.  I look up expecting to see some other looney like me – out in the woods at night…  And I think, “What a wimp to use a flashlight for walking…”

But no.  A second or two later I hear loud, rumbling thunder.  Then wind… threatening to arrive, but never seeming to reach me… like an approaching train.

The snow that had been falling gently becomes more insistent, covering my face with little frozen pin pricks.  It piles up quickly on my shoulders and arms.  Apparently I am not to write in my journal tonight.

Distant tree trunks disappear completely.  Nearer ones turn fuzzy white.  I remove my glove and use my finger as an eyeglass windshield wiper.  I don’t know if it has been twenty minutes, but I decide to return to my car.  I retrace my steps and think about how weird this experience has been so far.  I wonder just how much weirder it will get.

Day 3

I step out of the car.  As I struggle to slip into my rain pants, I eavesdrop on a huge flock of crows roosting in the trees just north of Baker Street.  They seem to be arguing about whose turn it is to go to which feeding spot.

Compared to yesterday, it is warmer (according to the thermometer).  Funny how the humidity that makes the hot feel hotter in summer also makes the cold feel colder in winter.  Snow that sparkled yesterday and kicked up as light, fluffy powder sinks in on itself today… dense and heavy…  It feels like it’s going to rain.

Indeed.  By the time I get to my Sit Spot, my glasses are speckled with water drops.

The Chickadees that were so bold in their declarations yesterday are nowhere to be found today.  The Titmouse still sings.  And woodpeckers.  (Note to self:  listen to woodpecker songs at the Lab’s website… Learn the difference between Downy, Hairy, Red-bellied, and Pileated.)

The rain makes a million different sounds, depending the surface it hits.  I sit with eyes closed and compare the sounds on:  My hoodie.  My jacket.  My rain pants.  The snow.  The leaves.  My gloves.  The dog.  My boots.

A cool breeze slides across my face.  (Yesterday, it was like a little slap or punch… a sudden poof… today, it sliiiides…)  It seems to say,  “Wake up!  Pay attention!”

“OK!  What do you want me to know?”  The breeze stops.  The rain continues.  Again, I don’t understand the message.

Day 2

Lovely day.  Cold enough.  Snow sparkles… no melting.  Bright sun in a cloudless sky warms me so much I take my gloves off.

At first, I listen.  Chickadees are fully committed to clearly declaring their territories.  “Mine’s here!” cries one.  “Mine’s here!” cries another.  A Titmouse is nearly as insistent.  Other small birds are tentative, as if they are only practicing.  Crows squawk just to hear their own voices.  Even Lolli stands still to listen.

I think about the book I am reading by Tom Brown in which he describes our Inner Voice.  He explains that we are connected to the natural world – to all things living and non-living on this beautiful planet.  He explains that when you have questions, you simply ask them and listen for your Inner Voice to answer.

I feel silly.  I don’t know what question to ask…  So I formulate the only logical question:  “What are the questions I should be asking?”  I close my eyes to await my answer.

A sudden chilly breeze speaks through dry leaves and slaps my face – gently.  Behind my eyelids a bright red-orange fades slowly to yellow.  I hear the sound of a heavy sigh – a strong exhaling.  But there is no one else here, is there?

Something is coming…  a thundering gallop down the trail.  My heart races.  I open my eyes.  Another dog.  A little growling.  Mutual sniffing.  The other dog leaves.

Lolli settles down.  But that breeze, that exhale.  What was that?  I’m afraid I didn’t understand the answer to my question.

Day 1

As I settled down for my first 20-minute sit in the 30-day Sit Spot Challenge a stranger’s cell phone rang in my pocket. It was inevitable, I knew, ever since I picked up the phone from the path as I walked to my spot.

“Damn,” I thought, as I conversed with a pleasant male voice. “Does this count as part of my 20 minutes?” After agreeing that I would drop the phone off at his house after my walk, I settled into my silence.

Silence. Silence is a relative term. Sure, I had ceased talking. But cars had not ceased driving, planes had not ceased flying, Lolli had not ceased chewing her stick, and dogs in distant yards had not ceased barking.

It was still when I arrived. Snow-covered. Cold (low to mid 20s I’d estimate). A light breeze started up just after I arrived rustling nearby marcescent leaves – maple of all things. A few great tall trunks let go loud cracks and snaps.  I hear one isolated sound that might be a bird or a squirrel.

In my mind I fashion the question, “Where is the wildlife?”  Instantly I hear what I assume is a deer rising from a resting spot and moving through the woods, though I cannot see her.

The tree trunk at my back feels comfortable, like an old friend.  I feel my self relaxing.  This particular spot in the woods…  I call it a Power Spot.  I walk this path frequently and this spot always makes me stop.  I have never been able to walk right through.  Perhaps I’ll learn more about its power by pausing here every day for 30 days.  Perhaps I’ll learn its magic.

As I walk back to my car, I am quite pleased with myself for squeezing this Sit-Spot moment in between work and a girls-night-out movie.  It wasn’t the most profound experience of my life.  But it was a start.  Day 1.  May I have the commitment to complete the Challenge!