Nature walk

The Nature Preserve
3:50 pm

I’m sitting under a live oak tree at a convergence of trails. A junction in the woods. A crossroads, so to speak. I’ve just emerged from the dry-as-a-bone cypress swamp, sun-dappled and brown-dry rustling, with imaginary sounds of leaves crackling underfoot, as if I were I walking on earth instead of on a slightly elevated boardwalk.

It ‘s cool and quiet. The wind is distant in the trees. A kind of hushed state has settled in that allows me to hear everything in the foreground, such as the call of a mourning dove and a woodpecker. Not too far off. Two taps he gave. That’s all. I wish I could see him in my binoculars, but he is invisible. Might as well be an ivory-billed woodpecker. They are supposed to be extinct, but there are exciting recent sitings (questionable) in Pearl River swamp wilderness of southeastern Louisiana.

4:10 pm

Overlooking the waterfowl nesting area, flooded former rice fields that were part of a plantation 200 years ago. Hardly any wind compared to last week at this same time when there was a good, stiff, 15-20 knot breeze, and I had to put on my coat over my sweatshirt.

So many different moods and settings here in this magnificent open area of waterways, canals, brackish saltwater marsh, and swampy lowland.

The mourning dove is calling in the woods in back of me now. Tall dry grasses, more like reeds, actually, are rustling in the wind that’s just picked up. A small bird chirps and peeps in the grass. The wind continues to rustle the dry reeds. I love that sound, especially when they are barely moving, and yet producing subtle sounds as they rub against each other.

This is a perfect spot in which to sit. It’s very peaceful. I can’t imagine having these sensations and thoughts were I not alone. I would be quiet in the company of others today. There would be nothing to say.

I have another mile to walk along the northern edge of the preserve. The reddish-pink flowers of swamp, or red, maple can be seen across the rice fields. They are blooming early this year. So amazing to see good-sized trees flowering. This is the first sign of spring in our lowcountry woodlands since we have no flowering dogwoods as understory trees. These are coastal forests.

4:20 pm

The sun was on my shoulders penetrating my navy blue sweatshirt, but I’m leaving it on. The warmth is good.

I’m halfway long the trail on the dike beside the swamp that is holding in the waters of this very old rice planation, the remnants of it, that is. At the foot of the trail I saw a faint, silver, three-quarter moon just above the dead, lightning-stricken loblolly pine where eagles sometimes roost. It’s always a bit strange to see the moon in a crystal clear blue sky.

Now, the only bird sounds are those of hawks and crows. I’m looking at empty, dry winter woods. I can see deeply into them. They are starting to awaken, however.

4:35 pm

This is the last resting stop on the trail where I can write in my notebook. There’s still that cool wind, as earlier, that is quite blissful as I sit under the shade of a small water oak, Spanish moss hanging down almost in my face. I can see the salt marsh extending way off in the distance. I can smell the sea in the wind. This is a meeting place of eco-systems, a coming together of inland forests and swamps with tidal creeks and salt marsh. There are a lot of places like this all along the South Carolina coast, but few are protected in preserves as this place is.

I’m content at the end of my walk. I have known a brief and precious time of serenity this afternoon, as only this special place can impart. Nature doesn’t make any judgments or harbor any ill will. But it is not indifferent to me, either. I am welcomed and at peace before heading back to the city. This sanctuary is my other home. I feel a part of it while here. There is no other place where I feel so much in the present moment. I will return again and again.