Whether I am window-shopping on Wilshire Blvd, or climbing Mt. Baldy, walking is the name of my game. As much as I am a self-professed walktropoler (i.e., metropolis walker) during the week, I am also a nature stalker on weekends. In fact, hiking is probably one of my top 1559 favorite things to do of ALL time. So on weekends, I religiously go on my morning hikes.
Lately, I’ve been going to Frank G. Bonelli Regional Park in San Dimas, since it isn’t too far from where I live. Besides being nearby, it’s really a pleasant place. The huge reservoir in the center of the park is the main attraction for picnickers, swimmers, water skiers, fishermen, and boaters.
But in the foothills surrounding the lake, you’ll run into fellow hikers, bird watchers, runners, horseback riders, and mountain bikers. Well, with about 14 miles of hilly terrain, there’s a lot of ground to cover and lots to see.
Speaking of seeing, the other day, I took my camera with the intention of taking pictures for this post. As I wandered along one of the loopy trails, I noticed that I couldn’t clearly see the landscape before me. Everything was blurry, as if I were staring too closely at a Monet. I naturally reached to take off my glasses and rub my eyes, but I soon found out I wasn’t wearing them! I’m near-sighted, so everything beyond 10 feet is a blur! “What a waste!” I thought to myself, “How can I take pictures without my freakin’ glasses?!” I continued my hike as usual. But I was bummed out, so I must have been slouching and staring at the dirt, the nearest view in sight. I walked and slouched and walked some more… and slowly, almost magically my eyes became fixated on all the shades of green, red, and even neon yellow that began to peek through the soil, as if to say, “Hey, we’re ready for our close-up!”
Curiosities filled the ground, and I could clearly see all the different lines, shades, and shapes of nature. Glorious strokes radiant in front of me.
Beauty, I realized, is as much in the entire landscape as it is in the dirt.
The flowers along the trail waved at me as I passed by them. I felt like a runner in a race. I waved to my fans, high-fiving the few I could reach.
When I finally reached the reservoir, I was again drawn to the ground below me.
I think I have a new hobby, folks, I’m calling it groundspotting!