Being alone
A fortnight ago, I went for a walk up the mountain with Ollie, to a spot a friend recommended for its quietness.
At first I parked at the wrong spot and walked for a bit, but the impact of the landscape I saw was immediate: there was only me and Ollie and the mountain, which the road passed through. This place is near home, yet it seemed to me that I had traveled to a far away and secluded space.
It started to rain, so we returned to the car. I decided to try and find the place anyway and drove further up the road. The sky cleared and so we were able to resume our walk, now from the right parking spot.
Again, there was no one. We walked for a couple of minutes and we reached a clearing atop of the mountain. A total absence of human noise, just the swallows singing and flying wildly for the upcoming tempest. It was so nice.
Under the trees there is a secluded picnic table with some benches - my friend says she calls it "the lovers' bench" since it is far away from the others. It is also the only one that offers a landscape view of the villages down bellow.
I lay on the bench and watched the leaves from the trees above move quietly with the wind. This moment, after so much time spent listening and listening; this nature-like silence, it felt so nice. This feeling, it made me remember just how much I love being alone.
Noise, words, useless declarations, egocentric opinions, none of that. Just the wind, the singing of birds, the occasional sigh from my dog. The slow pitter-patter of rain that finally jolted me awake.
