9:36 A.M.
It had been a long time since I have spent quality time outside. Though I have gone for runs through the park and walks with my dog, it still felt as if that was the first time I have set aside some time to relax and breathe in the fresh air. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, rising just above fifty degrees that morning. The sun shone through the trees and warmed the spot I had chosen to be my sector; however, I suspect that the coming weeks will bring more shade as the leaves continue to fill in. My sector overlooks a small drainage in my backyard, complete with a small wooden bridge that is slowly giving in to the degradation of rot. The birds that morning were chirping incessantly, responding to each other’s calls with seemingly more volume and enthusiasm than the last. The combination of the cool air, the sun’s warm rays, and the noises all around me made me feel in tune with my surroundings. It was unusual for me to be outside that early in the morning, yet I did not feel out of place. As the days continue to warm as spring gives way to summer, I hope to spend more time outside in the early hours of each day.
8:56 P.M.
It was very strange to be outside when the sun’s rays had fully disappeared beyond the horizon. I decided to sit by the neighborhood lake this time, hopeful to familiarize myself with some of the natural spaces within walking distance from my house. Minutes earlier I had watched the sun slowly fall beyond the line of trees, the lake’s reflection changing from a vibrant orange to a rapidly darkening shade of blue. I have watched countless sunsets before, but to stay out alone beyond the last of the warm-colored hues was eerie. Though the birds’ calls were more intermittent than those of the morning, their voices stood out clearer as the neighborhood buzz of lawnmowers, car engines, and shouting children had given way to the night. It was chillier without the sun, and I began to feel strangely out of place. Although I have spent time outside after dark before, those experiences typically take place far into the backcountry and are accompanied by a campfire and a bustling group of friends. It felt unnatural to be in a neighborhood, to know that everyone around me had retreated into their homes and closed off the ambiguity of the night behind them. The houses around me did not bring me comfort, but rather a feeling of abnormality. I did enjoy the morning better, but I hope to become more comfortable with this feeling as I tackle these next three weeks.
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