I have replaced my usual trail hiking supplies of paper and pen with my cell phone. I can take photos that are amazing to me in detail as well as send myself a text with ideas like flower names or story lines or something philosophical I wish to remember.
Today my text was first filled with the names of flowers I wanted to remember for a wild flower hike website I maintain with my husband: It went something like this: Wood's rose paintbrush blanket flower sun flower twin flower harebell bedstraw.
The next text noted "scolded by red squirrel!"
I added more flowers: bedstraw, clover, bluebell, campion, one-sided wintergreen, pyrola, green orchid (look up name), striped corralroot, cow parsnip.
I hiked along South Cottonwood trail to the first creek crossing and took a video of the creek.
Note: "I'm sitting on a piece of tree trunk at the edge of the creek. I wear my rain jacket to keep off flies that are heckling me while I munch on cashews and craisins. I watch bikers cross the log bridge, some walking their bikes, one riding his. Most hikers and some bikers have dogs who enjoy a splash and drink in the creek. I am transfixed by creek sound of water running over rocks--clacking, thunking, clucking...water sound sounds like slurping. Light glances off moving water...reflections of trees are stirred. Ripples create shadows. Shadows move over brass and copper-colored rock. There are mosses on the parts of boulders that are out of the water. I pick up a stone and turn it over, insect specks dart across the wet surface. The air is scented with resin."
On my way back to my car I stop to take another photo of twin flowers. Two bikers stop to see what I'm doing. We have a conversation about wildflowers in the woods. I give them a card: wildflowerhikesmontana.com
I send pictures and notes to friends far away and my husband at home.
When I reach the parking lot I notice a bag full of soda cans, cups, a plant hanger, piece of dead petunia, straw and more. I take it home to throw it in my trash. I think about what annoys me on local trails: dog poop in the middle of the trail and cigarette smoke. I think I saw one person who was smoking. I think back to all the flowers I saw, the Swainson's thrush I heard, the beauty of the moving water. Beauty outweighs annoyances. Outside news does not intrude during my wild time in the woods.