To Run and Skip in the Woods

Yesterday was wet and windy. The rains fell steadily as I curled up on the couch under my blanket with a book in hand. I shivered a bit, batted my eyelashes at Jamie, and he took the hint. A fire was soon lit and I reveled in the crackle, glow, and warmth as I alternately read and watched afternoon football with the guys.

One of my current reads is The Journals of Louisa May Alcott. I found it fitting (and not at all surprising) that Louisa enjoyed rambles in the hills and fields of New England. Indeed, haunting the woods gave her time to clear her head and organize her thoughts. (She viewed her mind as a "room in confusion" which required much sweeping and dusting. Alas, "cobwebs [still] get in." I know, Louisa. Oh, how I know!)

Louisa's outdoor wanderings also fostered creativity, and many a manuscript took root in her mind as she skipped over the hills and explored the forests.

A visit to New Hampshire prompted this June 1855 entry:

"Lovely place, high among the hills. So glad to run and skip in the woods and up the splendid ravine. Shall write here, I know."

I was reminded of another book on my nightstand at the moment, Growing Up Social, which supports the idea that time spent outdoors strengthens the mind.

"Being outdoors is especially rejuvenating for the minds of children and adults. A series of psychological studies revealed that after spending time close to nature in a rural setting, people exhibited greater attentiveness, stronger memory, and generally improved cognition. Their brains were calmer and sharper." (p. 107)

Well, with these thoughts fresh on my mind, I decided to seize the ideal window in my Sunday afternoon. The fire had died down, the football game had ended and the rains had stopped. I stepped out for a quick lap or two around the pond, to clear the cobwebs and do a bit of mental house cleaning.

As always, the jaunt did me good. The wind whipped through my hair and filled my lungs with a generosity and intensity that said, "I've got plenty. Take all the air you need. It's yours."

I took, and was filled.