Mindful Miles

There’s a beautiful moment when a walk transitions from a routine to a treasure hunt. It’s when you stop just moving and start seeing. Over time, my walks have become a journal of small, precious discoveries, a collection of my nature “firsts” that have forever changed the way I see the world.

My first great lesson in this new way of seeing came from a humble sycamore leaf. It was lying on the wet grass, a familiar shape in a familiar spot, but its stalk was a shocking, brilliant red. I’d never seen such a color on a dry leaf before. A few days later, my curiosity led me to look up, and there it was: a magnificent sycamore tree, its branches filled with green leaves, all with the same blazing red stalks. That single leaf on the ground was not an anomaly, but a tiny invitation to notice the spectacular truth that had been there all along.

The butterflies taught me to look closer, a lesson that paid off on a walk with my lovely friend, Esther. It was there I saw my first white-winged butterflies, a flash of delicate white that I chased for a picture. That single creature felt like a fleeting secret, a gift from the universe. And now, it almost seems like they follow me everywhere, a cheerful hello from my first discovery.

This was a stark contrast to my first glimpse of a dragonfly by the waterway at Walford Mill. What a gorgeous sight that was! Unlike the butterflies that now feel like old friends, the dragonfly has remained a rare, special memory, a reminder that some of nature’s gifts are meant to be savored in a single, unforgettable glimpse.

My list of firsts continued to grow. One day, a small bird with an impossibly bright red breast landed on a branch in front of me, its tiny dark eyes full of life. It was my first time seeing a robin, and I’ve not stopped being in awe of its delicate beauty. Now, every time I’m in the woods, I find myself holding my breath, hoping to catch another glimpse of this enchanting creature.

Then there were the firsts that rewarded a slower pace and a closer look at the ground. I found a plant with delicate, silvery, translucent pods that rattled softly in the breeze. I learned its name was honesty, a perfect fit for its fragile, see-through beauty.

Nearby, I discovered the delicate, lacy heads of wild carrots, a lesson in how a million tiny florets can come together to create something stunningly complex. I also found a patch of wild garlic, its earthy aroma a welcome surprise that taught me discovery is not just visual.

The most breathtaking first, however, was seeing a fox in the woods. I was walking down a quiet path when it emerged from the undergrowth, a flash of russet-red fur and a long, sweeping tail. The moment was one of absolute stillness, a quiet communion between two creatures who had stumbled upon each other’s worlds. Its gaze was direct and intelligent, a wild glint in its eyes as it assessed me. It stood for a few seconds before it turned and disappeared back into the trees with a silent grace, leaving me with a sense of wonder that has never faded.

These firsts have transformed my walks into a journey of constant discovery. They are a testament to the rewards of an open heart, and they’ve taught me that even the most familiar path is full of life and beauty waiting to be seen.