Meaning: The feeling experienced while alone in the woods, connecting with nature.
Man is one of the most paradoxical creatures ever to walk the earth. We are all busy making a living meanwhile forgetting to live. We love the hustle and bustle of the city life but yearn for a vacation in the countryside, a necessary break from the busy choking life. Because, after all, we belong to nature and nothing gives us more joy that feeling connected with unaltered nature. It is becoming increasingly difficult to find traces of nature amidst concrete jungles. But still, whatever little that catches our eye, makes us happy and calm.
There is simple joy to be found in watching the stars without smog and pollution, to breathe in the fresh air amidst the leafy smell of trees and the exotic smell from flowers. German scores again, this time, coming up with a word to describe that feeling of connectedness with nature, being alone in the woods, enjoying the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves as air whistles through the trees.
Flash Fiction #23
“Writers’ Block” William mumbled, staring blankly at the fancy notebook and pen he had taken out to start writing. “I hate it.” He added, almost as an afterthought.
Being a celebrated novelist was not what he had signed up for. The more successful he became, the more pronounced the pressure on him became. When he had written the first word of his first published story, he had been a dreamer like everyone else. He had taken inspiration from all the celebrated authors he had read, and some not so good ones who had managed to become ‘published bestsellers’. If they could all become authors, so could he.
And that conceited thought had landed him in this position. One book had quickly become two. The response for humour as a genre was amazing, and his next one was booked in pre orders and had huge launch activities. Overnight stardom and people pecking at him for autographs made him afraid of stepping out of his house, not something he had ever expected to feel.
Not having hoped to be published, much less successful, he had entered his first major writers’ block. He had simple run out of ideas. Nothing new came to him, and the next major plot element never materialised. Now on a publishing deadline for next month, nothing he ever wrote made sense. No cure seemed to work, and reading others’ books only made him either scoff in amusement or feel insecure and shut it.
Much deliberation later, he had to agree his best friend had a point. That countryside and the woods were beckoning him. A flight ride and a short car ride later, he knocked on the door of his childhood buddy, and was almost glad of the embrace that spoke not of his stardom but of old times.
“And what convinced you to come here, finally?” Wren asked, partially kidding.
“I just wanted to spend time away from all that hustle and bustle.”
And the routine began. William spent his days away from all electronics, using only minimal facilities. He woke up early, ate healthy and spent most of his days in the woods nearby. His eardrums that were screaming for some rest found the chirping of birds oddly satisfying. Days passed and he found himself spending more and more time in the woods, alone, most often barefooted. He found himself humming along the birds’ tunes, forming nonsense words to string alone, feeling like a kid.
And then the idea struck him. One day, he took a notebook with him, trying to pen down the words he coined to the tune. Poems seemed to flow unhindered, and soon he had a huge collection on the theme of nature and relaxation. He was amazed at himself. The only thing that remained was the title of the poem compilation.
Wanderlust or Waldeinsamkeit?