Ocean, It Swallowed

I'm not exactly the outdoors-y type, but the last two days I've been on a lot of nature walks. That's one great thing about Bellevue; there's parks and trails everywhere. I went on a trail that is supposed to lead from Lake Washington to Lake Sammamish, though I think that that is merely in theory; the trail itself lasts about .7 miles before suddenly ending. When I first found it, I was 10 years old, and the foreboding group of tall evergreens seemed to tell me not to go in too far. But really it's misleading; there is a short copse of evergreen trees, and once you keep travelling on the trail it immediately opens up to overgrown fields and short twiggy trees.

During my walk towards the master garden (a garden that leases space to private owners, but is open to the public for viewing) I was listening to Aziz Ansani's Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening, and the combination of comedy and sunshine made it hard not to laugh to myself (though reflecting on it on a walk later that night, I realized just how close to insanity I really am. Take the ipod out of the equation and I have a voice talking to me that no one else can hear). But on the way back I decided to switch to The Books' The Lemon of Pink, and with waves of laughter and looping screams, I decided it was a chance to take my time and fully explore the area.

Which led me to a place that I feel truly privileged for seeing.

There was, to my left, a trail that twisted and turned into a wall of golden grass higher than my head. The turns were so sharp that it was impossible to tell exactly where it led, and I decided to go on it. After about 30 seconds, I already started to have misgivings. The trail twisted so hard that even though I knew I was close to the main trail, I could no longer see it; the solitude kicked my mind into hyperdrive and I soon imagined my dead body tossed to the side and no one ever knowing to find me there. But that feeling didn't last long, as the man-made trail suddenly opened up to the edge of a pond, and the sound of ducks reached my ears. The trail had led to a small pond that very few people must have seen, and these ducks, unlike the ones you see in parks, were not used to humans, and they warily watched me watch them.

The lack of people I let into my life now has opened up moments for me to feel less like an object functioning for others and more like myself. I imagine running into flowers and abandoning the burdens I've been carrying along with me like tiny wounds.

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