Go on a walk.
I forget, nearly every single time, that going on a walk is good for me. All walks are good, but walks involving some sort of nature can feel like the equivalent of massaging your brain. (I constantly wish for the metaphorical and/or physical ability to massage my brain).
If you are lucky enough, like I am lucky enough, it is easy to walk out the door and end up in a field where the cars are a distant swoosh and planes only occasionally interrupt the peace.
And the rest of the noise is a breeze across long grass, and the rustling of leaves, and the whistling babble of birds getting ready to mate and nest in early spring.
I have stood in the same field and felt an immediate sense of relief for my whole entire life. I have been broken up with in that field. I have been on a first date in that field. I have sled down its snowy slopes in an even more muted world of white. I have walked through it on breaks from revision, breaks from work, breaks from the monotony of any kind of day. I have walks through it with friends, and past lovers, my sister, my mum, my dad.
So often have I stopped still and said, to myself or whoever I’m with, “listen.” We listen to the quiet. To the bleating of lambs. To the gentle neigh of a horse in the other field. To a Red Kite calling and swooping across the sky. In rare and fleeting moments, we listen to nothing.
I have reached out to hold someone’s hand in this field. I have cried in this field. I have felt peace like no other in this field. I have contemplated the death of grandparents, the end of relationships, the end of eras. I have comforted and been comforted here.
Right now the grass is greener than you can imagine. In the sharp, lemony sunlight of April the hills slope as they have always done. A path cutting through, trod down with 26 years of my footsteps. The hedgerows bud with dots of green. Holding in more energy than I can consider. Vibrating and growing and moving beyond my naked eye. Soon everything will explode. Great mushroom clouds of green in all directions.
I will forget to walk here again. I will grow agitated in the house. I will fight against myself and proclaim I am too tired to go out. I will go out anyway. I will arrive in this field and remember all the seasons that have come before and all my troubles will blow away with the wind.