As night falls in my forest, the midsummer sun may set to a brilliant bath of blue from the full moon that cascades over all exposed terrain. On nights like that, it's best to engage in hide & seek or (my personal favorite) capture the flag, provided you have the numbers. There’s just something thrilling about the hunt and the ensuing chase that follows. For the less adventurous, there's no more perfect a time to hang out around a toasty fire. And, Though the rippling flames hypnotize as they crackle and consume, the real view is straight up. Stars upon stars, even possibly other worlds are on display for all lucky enough to bare witness; multitudes more than one would ever find in civilization, where the sheen of smog hinders vantage and diminishes astral splendor. The aura apparent is worth every breath drawn in such a place. Never have I felt more like a tourist, especially on my own land.
The resplendent moonlight only falls primarily upon the clearings, however, which are few and far between out here. Everywhere else, the trees are tall and their foliage lush an unfettered. So, for the most part, the valley is shrouded in what can only be described as the very definition of pitch black. The darkness is almost palpable. Those are the nights I take my Ninja Walks. I step into the night and let it envelop me; flow through me, even, as I become part of it. I take maybe a hundred steps and look back. My porch light can be seen almost floating in the distance, surrounded by dark as if it was an isolated island of light. The road is one I’ve traversed my entire life and relatively straight, though when all you see is black, you can very easily find yourself almost walking off one side or the other. Considering it’s carved into a hillside with no rails, one should mind their step carefully. The food chain can shift greatly out of your favor in the black. Mind you, off the grid, there is no 911. Even if there was, the chance of someone finding you before something else does is little more than a crap shoot.
The moon does its best to peer through, and at times it does in its graffiti on the road below, that almost beams down like a soft laser beam constantly strobed by leaves in warm breezes. July's the best time to Ninja Walk. The forest is alive with the scent of fern, pine, treegasm, and tar from the yearly road maintenance. The bouquet seems odd, but it works to set the scene perfectly. I don't speak most times. I let the forest do the talking. you hear the rustling of the leaves, the chirping of crickets, and any number of creatures big and small going about their business. The most significant atmospheric factor this time of year would have to be the fireflies. Now is their mating season and they're out in full force getting busy and generating a magnificent display. Throughout the dense black, thousands of flashing insect butts dance throughout the forest as they search for summer romance. Such a sight gives even the night sky a strong fight for aesthetic mastery. The turn is hard to locate most times for obvious reasons. All I have to find my bearings is scant moonbeams and memory alone. I know that there's a slope down followed by a smaller slope up, then the road veers to the right and roughly an eighth of a mile on the left is a short, dirt drive that connects the main road to the railroad grade. The drive is a sharp hill with rocks easily slid upon and, for some reason, a pipe running across. The pipe is mostly buried, partially not, and impossible to locate unless you find it the hard way. I know it's somewhere right of center, so I try to hug far left to avoid the fast way down. Once at the bottom, the terrain flattens out and I turn left to make my way back.
The rear trail is an old railroad. It used to run rock blasted from the hills with dynamite into town where they'd make glass. My grandfather would tell us stories about the conductor giving them rides as kids. Now, it's a trail for hikers and equine enthusiasts. all that's left of the railroad is the decaying remains of the ties they left behind. We still kick up a rusted spike here and there (as kids, we called them, "choo-choo bones"), but even those are rare nowadays. Every year the ties become less noticeable, but if you're not careful, you can stumble over them or possibly land head-long into a horse pie, freshly baked that day. The sounds change more on the bottom road. The creek that runs parallel emits a trickle tone, unless heavy rainfall makes it sound like a river rushing full steam. Sometimes you can hear the splash of something catching a quick drink.
Eventually, the foliage peels away to reveal the brilliant night sky once more as I make my way past other camps and back into our "neighborhood." The moonlight shines upon the muddy hoof-prints and ATV tire tracks of the trail's other visitors that day. I soon see the familiar porch light that guides me back and the flickering of the fire. The smell of burning pinewood faintly brushes my olfactory senses as I hear the uproarious conversations of my friends and family. Eventually, I make my way into the warmth and chime in on the present topic. As I sit under the summer sky with loved ones. I feel a cozy on the physical and a balance on the spiritual, mostly thanks to my Ninja walk. I find it the perfect way to shed away the draining rigors of societal living and get back to center. Good times indeed.