William

William came to my mini-burn together with several other strangers. He's a Londoner who commutes to Dartmoor when he's not off on an adventure. One morning I found a letter hidden among leaves and twigs:

"Johnny,

this morning I want us to take a barefoot walk around the island at a slow pace.

In silence or with sound, no words."

My curiosity grew and I took off my shoes. We left everything behind and began our walk. The walk took its time, and slowly, slowly we came closer to the heart of nature. We felt the earth beneath our feet — the soft moss, the cool sand, the gnarled bark. We stopped often and listened — to the birds' chirping, the rush of the wind, the sounds of insects buzzing among the leaves.

How did the bark on a tree feel? Was it rough and gnarled, or smooth and glossy? How does a rotting tree smell? We breathed in the scent of damp earth and old wood, a scent that tells of nature's eternal cycle.

It was a moment of stillness, where words weren't needed. Just presence, the senses and nature's own language. A morning to remember, a walk to feel with the whole body. Without the phone.