Solitude(Helga Doermer) It seems my bones are suffering from disuse atrophy. It’s the citified life I live that has taken hold of me. Too much physical stagnation, bent over books or tapping away at the keys of a computer, has left my joints creaking and achy when I do finally put them to use. Yet I am sitting again. This time with my feet up to redistribute my weight over hip bones that are hurting after two hours of walking an unaccustomed terrain.

There was a time when the walk would have been a pleasant interlude – a time to stretch my legs and breath fresh air – but that was more than two decades ago. Now I discovered that not only do my muscles, joints & bones ache as a reminder of my sedentary ways, but that I have also lost the art of being alone in nature.

Out at the lake for the first time this year, bright sunlight had beckoned me to step outside after breakfast. Gauging the temperature by my thermal receptors - air tempered by wind and water, banks of trees and expanses of grass – the morning registered cool but without a bite. I succumbed to the invitation of a perfect walking day, but I had no intention of going alone. However when I invited my companions, I discovered they were distracted by their own interests and my only recourse was to set out myself.

My original intent was to follow a woodland path that would have had me safely back at the hotel within half an hour. Ten minutes later, as the walk turned to run parallel to the lake, it became apparent that I was on an unfamiliar trail. Eyes on the rocky shore, I hesitated briefly, then stepped where I had never been before.

While picking my way carefully along the stone strewn shore, an offshore breeze ruffled across the waters and brought me a scent I had long forgotten. With it a veil of memory was drawn aside and my adolescent self appeared walking another shore startled by the sight of live ladybug painted boulders.

Moving closer to the water’s edge my feet found more even footing along the wave combed pebbles. A distance along the shore, a flat top rocked offered a place to sit. Responding to the invitation was like a return to another life as the lap and splash of waves played at my feet and old film reeled through my mind. Gazing across the expanse of lake to the distant horizon touching the sky recalled the experience of sailing on the ocean; anchoring in a sheltered cove; and being rocked to sleep in my boat cradle.

I walked on, at last content to be alone as the gift of solitude in nature became another kind of companion. Before long a grassy clearing opened onto the woodland trail I had originally intended to take. Bright yellow dandelions bordered the footpath like miniature bursts of sunlight against the tender green grass. The air was still, the wind swaddled by the leafing trees and rich with the fragrance of a newly born spring. Bird song pierced the silence and accompanied me on the final stretch back to my hotel.

Sitting here in the late afternoon sun, I ponder on the ‘why’ of my earlier reluctance to wander alone. It seems I have been long living with unconscious fears of getting lost or being forgotten in an unfamiliar landscape. Did it stem from a childhood experience of losing my way?

I didn’t even know I was lost that day until a stranger saw me and became hysterical for a reason beyond my understanding. The next thing I remember is a police officer questioning me. He wanted to know where I lived. He seemed quite unhappy when I told him my mom was in hospital having a baby and I was staying at my cousin’s place. He wanted an address.

Or was the fear more deeply rooted – a forgetfulness of my divine beginnings and a fearfulness of making wrong turns in life and never coming full circle to return to my elusive ‘home’?

I know I didn’t trust my sense of direction, and I did inadvertently find myself on an unfamiliar path. But rather than letting fear overwhelm me and turning back, I took a risk. So I walked for two hours instead of a half. In the process I rediscovered something I once knew. I can be solitary. I can trust my senses. I made it back to my starting place with refreshed memories and an awareness of nature’s healing touch. Never mind the aching. It will soon be forgotten. Meantime I luxuriate in a sense of well-being supported by the pleasure of being outside the city and rediscovering the gift of being alone in nature once again.

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