I’ve been a proponent of mindfulness for years,  The other week, on the way to Target or some such destination, I remembered driving past a little patch of greenery along a busy avenue.

The sign said “Nature Preserve.”  In smaller print, I suspected it listed hours. I decided I wanted to check it out.

In these crazy times, walking in nature seems an especially appealing way to spend time. That this place, the West Ridge Nature Preserve, turned out to have been around for five years, came as a surprise to me.

It was closed, as was most of the city, in April, during the first wave of COVID restrictions, but its iron gate was open this past week when I decided explore it.

There were several signs at the gate, including one with illustrations of face masks and a reference for what six feet of social distancing might look like, like signs at the grocery store asking for a two cart-length distance between shoppers.

More signs outlined restrictions. No dogs, closes at sunset, etc.

Most paths were cement, although there were a few short sections that were topped in gravel. A small play lot, with the usual type of equipment, was carved out of the brush. This allowed small kids and their caretakers to feel “normal.”

There was a simple looping design to the place, although I didn’t understand it upon entering. I just chose each turn as I came to forks in the path. When I just arrived, I didn’t think about how to leave.

A few steps in, I forgot there were other people anywhere nearby.  I was happily lost in the wild.

All I could see was prairie flowers and grasses. Occasionally, a dragonfly swooped in front of me en route to a purple or orange petal. Most plants or flowers were native to the area. Some grew higher than my five foot three inches.

I found peace in my surroundings and my situation. I marveled how, at the same time, I could feel so insignificant (no one else was probably conscious of me being there) and so important. Everything I saw was ALL FOR ME.

I contemplated that the beauty of nature went beyond the growing things I saw. It was not just contained in the variety of colors of leaves or numerous species of insects. The sun itself was amazing as it shown itself directly at times and, at moments, took cover behind clouds. I loved the effect of breezes on leaves.

Okay, that was nice, I thought, after forty-five minutes. How do I get out of here?

I noted that I was standing only a few hundred feet from Western Avenue. I heard the hum of traffic from beyond a wall of trees, but I couldn’t figure out how to get to the street. When I chose to turn into a section of path I had not yet traveled, I meandered into a dead-end, a viewing spot overlooking a manmade pond.

I did not see signs with directional arrows on how to get back to the front gate. I started to panic.

While having my blue snake patterned mask in place, I asked several mothers keeping watchful eyes on their children, how to get out. I asked whether there were multiple entrances and exits.

Just follow the path, they said.

How could such obvious advice be fraught with so much anxiety?  Going to this nature preserve seemed like a reflection of navigating through this strange time.

I liked that I could get away from news and worries of the day by immersing myself in nature so easily. I liked the feeling of being in the wild, amid flowers and trees and brush. I also found comfort in walking along a surfaced path, one that someone actually designed, one that others followed before me.

But I really didn’t like not knowing how to leave. I don’t like uncertainty.

In this, I know I am in good company. So many other souls feel uncertain about navigating through the pandemic and era of political divisiveness.

In my immediate situation, winding (or unwinding) my way back to my car, I had no choice but to keep walking and look for clues that might lead me in the direction I want to go.

I looked for trees that made impressions on me when I first walked north. I noticed a spot where birds seemed to enjoy hanging out. I remembered the sound of them chirping.

Eventually, I passed the play lot and breathed a deep sigh. Shortly after passing this milestone, I was at the iron gate.

My visit to West Ridge Preserve, like each day of life where I try to take cues from what’s in front of me, is a lesson in TRUST.

Trusting that wherever you are along your path is exactly where you need to be at the time is no small thing.