Climbing the Higher Hill

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As I mentioned earlier, I went hiking this past weekend, in an attempt to clear my head and reconnect with a few trees and rocks. Since I was a kid, I’ve had a short quotation from Mr. Shakespeare hanging somewhere around my home: “A touch of nature makes the whole world kin.” I love being surrounded by it, whether it’s the cool embrace of the ocean or the steam heat of a Southern forest.

I went to Radnor Lake, which has the fun distinction of being one of the few national “natural areas” completely within a major city limits. The history is intriguing (the lake used to be the water source for the Radnor rail yards a few miles away), but I’ll just note the site if you’re interested.

I was there later than I’d planned to be, having discovered that getting up at 5:30 on a Saturday morning was simply more difficult than I’d expected. I arrived at the park at 7:15, frozen water bottles and backpack in hand. I choose one of the more strenous trails, and by 8:00, I was standing at the top of an amazing hill, breathing hard, clothes soaked. Steam heat, indeed. Already closing in on 90 degrees, the humidity was hovering between 80 and 90 percent, and the abundant and gorgeous leaves and ground cover held temperature and moisture close to the ground, nourishing the flora and wringing everything out of me.

I felt glorious.

I stopped often; this was renewal, not punishment. I prayed. I listened. I meditated on opening my heart and mind to others, to God. It was calming to both body and spirit, despite the physical demands of the hike. Sometimes the trail was so rocky, steep, and narrow that I couldn’t look up; had to keep watching where I put those toes. Other times it was broader, allowing time and space to let my eyes roam to the wild flowers, scampering squirrels, and patterns of dark and light on the ground.

As I pushed up the steeper hills (I did take pictures, which I’ll post here some time soon), I remembered what one of my backpacking instructors had told me more than 20 years ago. “Keep your eyes on the top of the hill. Don’t look at where you are; look where you want to be.” He was talking about hiking; my mind landed on it as good advice for my current difficulties.

Everything changes, and sometimes you have to concentrate less on today’s problems than tomorrow’s goals. In part, because “tomorrow” will have its own set of trippers.

The hike exhilarated me so that I wanted to go the next day. But I didn’t set the clock, and by the time I’d recovered from Saturday night (the hike didn’t exactly take all day…), noon had come and gone, and rain drenched everything in sight. A good day to do all that introspection flat on my back. That helped, too.

Sometimes, when the world crowds in, you need time to do nothing but stare at the leaves and clouds . . . or the ceiling.

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