This Is Peace.

The minute I hear the leaves and twigs crackle underfoot, the serotonin begins to seep into my pores. As the breeze tickles its way through the trees, blowing errant strands of hair across my cheek, I exhale deeply. This, I think to myself, is peace.

I'm someone who has a habit of existing too much in their head, with thoughts whirring like wind-up toys with no expiration. It's hard for me to ever truly 'switch off', and escape the din of ideas, worries, and wonderings, that clamour for attention inside my brain. It can get pretty noisy in there.

Having grown up with dogs, and in a home where I'm lucky enough to be surrounded by nature, I've always known the delights of roses scenting my path down the garden, or dew-damp grass softening underfoot. I count myself lucky to have been part of the last generation that grew up making mud pies, rather than being glued to a screen. Nature was my playground.

As I grew older, and the administration of adult life took hold of my schedule, moments of true appreciation of nature and its healing powers grew sparser. My head grew heavier with the usual worldly worries of career, money, and finding my way in the world, and less time was spent indulging in the energy around me, green and plentiful as it was.

Time being the natural athlete that it is, my twenties raced towards my thirties, and with it my desire to find more balance within my body - when your head is filled with as many thoughts as mine usually is, you can find your body bowed and bent under the pressure. As this yearning for communion between mind and body drew me towards spirituality and mindfulness, I was reawakened to the fact that I had one massive, free tool all around me: nature.

I began to realise that in order to get out of my head, I needed to get into my body. I needed to reconnect with each and every one of my senses, and get away from my overthinking mind and step back into my feeling body. More than this, though, I needed to ground myself in the beauty of the present moment, rather than let the worries of an unforeseen future weigh me down. In short, I needed to get out more.

Nature is the holistic therapist that tends to my senses and plants the seeds of calm in my soul. My eyes feast on the shades of green that dance into golden browns as the seasons change. The soundtrack of birdsong and waves of wind play on shuffle in my ears. My hands graze the jagged bark of trees that have stood long before me. The knots in my muscles begin to unwind with each step I take further into the woods.

When the world that surrounds you is so virtual, it can be hard to remember how to connect with the sensations of living in a real one. When so much time is spent trying to communicate through the medium of tapped keys, you can struggle to tap into how your body converses with you naturally, with ease. When the screens in front of us glow with artificial delight, it can be difficult to discern the natural beauty that lies right in front of our eyes, if only we'd lift our heads once in a while.

If my furry four-legged friend accompanies me on my jaunts through fields and forests, he too teaches me to live for the now. So happy is he stopping to sniff leaves and logs, that I can't help but want to exist fully in the present moment, just as he does. He doesn't worry about the walks of tomorrow, or the rain on the horizon. He doesn't curse the wind or curl his body away from the breeze. Each step for him is filled with wonder and discovery, as he follows his feet as intuitively as any intrepid explorer.

When human concerns become overwhelming, the solace of sunshine and the cleansing of rain are the natural remedies to which I turn. My moments of calm are sourced in the cool shade of a pine forest. My inner peace restarts its journey through me as I dip my toes in the shifting waters of a river on a summer's day. My mind begins to quieten as I tune into the soft scurry of squirrels up the trees that surround me.

In these moments, I exhale deeply and I think to myself 'this is peace'.