I had to turn off my notifications and head to the hills for a few hours. I was glad for the smell of wet leaves and patchwork of brown and yellow on the ground, glad for the sweat in my pores and muscle in my legs. It doesn’t take long to feel alive again when you turn off your phone. A breeze kicked up and scattered more leaves, leaves falling like large flakes of snow…and not another soul around. I indexed my thoughts and flittered in and out, up and down the hillsides, the far country lookout, the dark quarry, the grate-covered mineshaft seam. The fantastic erratic it’s called: a boulder with moss shoulders, volunteers growing from crumbled cedar. Most I felt at peace when I forgot myself and seemed to blend in with the natural world. Confined to our rooms, glued to our phones, we’re forced to an unnatural state. Stand in the rain if you must. Nature never leaves.

Categories: prose, writing

Tags: creative nonfiction, inspiration, pacific northwest, William Pearse writer, writing