Today I took a walk through a chilly but sunny Swedish spring. When I walked through the forest I heard birds sing. Of course I’ve heard birds sing many times before, but this time it was like... I don’t know how to describe it. I couldn’t really take it in, but I could hear it—and appreciate it—in a way I don’t think I’ve done before.

It made me think about my dad and my granddad.

My dad is a very knowledgeable person, who knows lots and lots about trees and flowers and birds—what they sound like, what they’re called, and so on.
My granddad, on the other hand, wasn’t very knowledgeable. He was a simple man, really. He used to sit on the back porch of their house, just listening to birds, and attempting to mimic them with his whistle—almost to the point of conversing with them.

When it comes to both my dad and my granddad, I’ve subconsciously always thought their interest in nature and birds and things might have been due to a lack of more important things to focus on. And I’ve always had lots of things I’ve deemed very important that have kept my focus.

So when I stood and really tried to listen to the birds today, it struck me that maybe they both understood something I have yet to learn. Maybe you only appreciate things like that if you’re really here?

And especially with my granddad—he’s one of the people in my life that I loved the most, and loved spending time with when I was young. Maybe that was because he was so present. So free from all distractions?

Speaking of nature—thinking about these things today, I got a sense that nature has magical powers, in lack of a better word.
I don’t experience it as magic exactly—but I get a hunch that nature could be a place that helps me become present. That maybe I could receive some kind of energy from being so.

But here’s the catch-22:
It feels like nature demands my presence in order to let me take part in its “magical powers.”

And how to get there... I don’t really know.