a winter's walk

/

The recent winter weather in the Northeast has made it challenging for some of us to get outside for a proper walk. But you do know you can go anywhere at anytime, right?

I shared the words below as part of the yoga nidra practice I led during last week’s Thursday afternoon wind-down class. You can imagine a similar scene whenever you need a mental break from work, or even when you’re having trouble shifting gears at bedtime. Allow your mind to go on a journey, and simply follow along.

In your mind’s eye, bundle yourself in your warmest clothing—cozy socks, pillowy boots, pants, layers to keep your midsection warm, a fluffy scarf, and your favorite hat. Protected from the cold and damp. Imagine yourself looking out the door to a wonderland of white, and then picture yourself stepping over the threshhold for a winter afternoon’s walk. 

Your adventure begins in a wide expanse of white—a field blanketed in snow. As you scan the meadow before you, you see gently curved shapes—structures that once stuck up into the landscape are now hugged beneath a quiet while quilt. Everything seems muffled and softer—it's a sight that brings you a sense of contentment. 

As you look up and see tree limbs dusted in freshly fallen snow, notice birds flitting in and out of branches, twittering their unique songs as they find seeds laying gently on the snow’s surface. You marvel at how light they are—traveling across the snow, barely leaving their wing and foot prints behind them. Juncos with round white bellies and dark wings, nuthatches scaling rough tree bark, and even a bright red cardinal—a spectacular sight among so much monochrome.  

Your footprints crunch into the vast white blanket, just alongside some prints of other small animals who have traveled this way before you. The air in your nostrils is crisp and cool, refreshing as you take it into your lungs beneath your cozy layers. The snow seems to have its own clean, unique scent, and you’re grateful for this opportunity to explore the world around you. 

Eventually you come upon an opening between the trees on the border of the field, and you decide to explore the quiet forest beckoning from within. The tall trees form a welcoming cave of branches above a snowy well-trodden path, and as you step onto it you are soothed by the scent of pine all around you. The late-afternoon sun filters down through the branches above you. Your gaze is taken by all the different textures of bark you see  in all directions—so much so that you reach out to touch the ridged dark furrows of the oaks, the smoothness of ash, and the peeling grey fringes of paper birch, sounding gently in the soft breeze. Your footsteps are sure. 

Soon you hear the burbling of a brook nearby. The water is tripping gracefully over the rocks of different sizes, shapes and colors, all edged with thin sheets of ice. The sound is so calming, and you are delighted to find a fallen tree nearby, where you can rest. It's situated up against another stately evergreen, forming a natural seat on the bank of the brook. You brush off some snow, settle your body into the warm wood beneath you, and allow your mind to grow quiet …