How do you get away from it all, when you feel like you need to get away from it all, but you already live away from it all? For me, the key is to leave all my gnomish work duties behind and roam aimlessly for a while.

I don’t even want the mental effort of deciding where to go, I just want to get out and experience the wilderness around me. To help me leave quickly and not have to come up with a plan, I’ve devised some small journeys that I call nature meditations.

Today on this perfect summer’s day, a tranquil trip from my stone hut to the end of Long Lake is a great way for me to de-stress and enjoy the reasons I live in the Round Woods.

Even walking out my front door reminds me of all the things I appreciate.

I chose my hut location because it’s just about fifty paces from a small spring that bubbles up from the ground. The water filters through stone and sand, making it wonderfully clean and sweet.

Where the little spring overflows into a tiny brook, I placed a few rocks to make a small pool. All passersby, whether two-legged or four-legged or small and multi-legged, can easily drink their fill and rejuvenate themselves. I call this welcoming little oasis Eden’s Spring. Few travelers realize that it is my own name. They think the name Eden was chosen because of the surrounding beautiful scenery.

Eden’s Spring spills over and becomes a little stream that meanders into the Low Meadow, where it joins with other small watercourses also on their way east. The long, succulent grasses send their roots to these small streams for a drink. This hushed grassland, quiet except for the slight noise of running water and small plants swaying in the breeze, attracts birds and all sorts of meadow creatures.

The shallow streams crisscross and grow ever larger, changing from ankle-deep ripples easily stepped across, finally to a single sparkling, slow moving stream. This stream converges with a few other minor water sources to become a small creek, which finally becomes deep enough to float a small gnome boat.

I built an inconspicuous small overhang, partially disguised by some brambles, to store my kayak and oar. I pull them from their hiding place and place the craft into the water, managing to step in without mishap.

I named this section of waterway, just past the Low Meadow where it becomes a gradually widening creek, Friends Passage. What else could I call it? My friends are all around me on this journey.

As I paddle downstream, I can tell by the way my sweet wild friends say hello to me that news of today’s journey has raced ahead of me. Wildflowers nod to me. The large willow trees dip their branches lower so I can touch their swaying leaves in passing. Even the flourishing grasses shimmer in the sun, rippling a wave of green toward me.

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Ravens dip and caw, wheeling in the sky before they fly away. Swans dip their beaks, ducks quack, geese honk. Foxes and deer look up from their forages in the grass. Peace and great affection settle on the meadow during my passage.

I especially enjoy the babies of the meadow. They give me a hard glance, since they haven’t learned who I am yet. Their attempts at ferocity are endearing. I nod my head to the parents to let them know what fine offspring they have produced.

Occasionally Phyler will accompany me when I make this journey. She often seats herself on the upturned tip of the kayak and adds her own high chirruping tones to the greetings and small rustles all around us. Today Phyler merely does a circling flyby, checking from above to make sure all is well, then soars off again.

Eventually Friends Passage widens to become Long Lake. The lake is long although not very wide. It is dotted with small islands that were placed there by the creator gods just for use by nesting wild birds. And what a lovely variety of birds there are on the lake islands, all going about their daily avian business undisturbed by predators.

Long Lake is a birdwatching delight. I always end up just drifting with the currents for a while, charmed by the busy birds and their natural world. I lose myself in peaceful meditations.

The lake finally ends at rocks and small rapids that continue to head east. The Long Lake Falls are not too treacherous except in spring, when they temporarily become whitewater falls due to melting snow. I don’t want to get caught in the fast-moving cascades of water then or at any time of year, so I pull my kayak onto the sandy shore close to the end of Long Lake.

The final section of the waterway past Long Lake is named Singing River. It flows all the way to the ocean. Legend has it that the songs of mermaids can be heard all the way along the river. It’s probably merely the wind singing through the tall pine trees, but no one can say for sure.

The Infinite Ocean is too far for my half day trip, but sometimes my family visits Zelen and we spend several days kayaking and camping. We always portage around the rocky Long Lake Falls.

I pull myself from memories of family trips, and walk to the top of a hill to stretch my legs a bit. I turn and look back at the lake with its many inhabitants equally enjoying their day.

My heart feels like it might burst from joy at my much-needed solitude, my furry and feathered friends who are happy to see me, and the beauty of a pristine natural landscape. I live in a world rich with life and beauty.

I hear the waterfalls as I head back to my kayak, the water now at summer levels and no longer roaring loudly with spring snow melt. These same waterfalls are often no more than a fast-moving current by the time maple trees start turning colors.

I usually stop in the center of the lake before heading home from my meditation, and today is no different. A holly bush and an ivy plant have donated some tendrils that I have woven into a simple wreath. I say a small blessing to those who have come before me and had the foresight to plan this area so well. I bless the animals who live here, and wish them well through the years. Finally, I drop the wreath onto the lake. Then I row home through lengthening shadows and cool evening breezes.