Story and photos by Matthew Archer
This morning I woke up early and started my day as usual. In the kitchen I prepared coffee, carried it upstairs and sat at my desk to check email. Then, I stepped out my front door in Court 10 and joined the concrete footpath leading to West Green. It was my first walk in several weeks, and as I strode into golden sunlight filtering through the olive trees, I felt bathed in a familiar tranquility. With each return to these walking paths, I wonder why I don’t do it more often. Yet here they are when I come back to them.
This morning I woke up early and started my day as usual. In the kitchen I prepared coffee, carried it upstairs and sat at my desk to check email. Then, I stepped out my front door in Court 10 and joined the concrete footpath leading to West Green. It was my first walk in several weeks, and as I strode into golden sunlight filtering through the olive trees, I felt bathed in a familiar tranquility. With each return to these walking paths, I wonder why I don’t do it more often. Yet here they are when I come back to them.
At West Green I followed the footpath clockwise to where it merges with a sycamore-lined alleyway to the Main Green. At the coral tree that stands at the heart of the Main Green, by the old club house, I sat on a bench.
In the mornings this wood-plank bench sits in the shade. I stopped and rested for a moment while gazing up at hilly Baldwin Vista neighborhood. A white house is perched on the distant hilltop next to a pine tree that sticks above the hill line. This view is framed by two incense cedars in the Green, with the rose garden spread out in front. It’s fall now, and the roses are in flower again (when I walked past them, I could smell their scent in the air). I feel grateful for this bench. It offers a place to rest and enjoy this scene, as birdsong meanders toward me across the flat open grass.
In the mornings this wood-plank bench sits in the shade. I stopped and rested for a moment while gazing up at hilly Baldwin Vista neighborhood. A white house is perched on the distant hilltop next to a pine tree that sticks above the hill line. This view is framed by two incense cedars in the Green, with the rose garden spread out in front. It’s fall now, and the roses are in flower again (when I walked past them, I could smell their scent in the air). I feel grateful for this bench. It offers a place to rest and enjoy this scene, as birdsong meanders toward me across the flat open grass.
 Click each photo to view them in a larger size. | When I set out, I decided to take a short walk. I was thinking about the tasks I had to achieve today. But with each step along the winding path, those tasks lost their urgency. As I imagined what I’d say to a colleague, the sound of a thousand leaves clapping in the wind distracted me. As I planned my days’ schedule, I saw a black phoebe close by me turn its quick head one way and the other before launching into the blue air. By the time I reached the bench, I had decided my day could wait, I would walk the full loop. |
After sitting for several minutes, I stood and continued past Main Green’s coast live oak, half-fallen, its branches supported by the ground. This Easter, my wife and I passed by during the children’s egg hunt. I counted dozens of colorful plastic eggs balanced in the crooks of the tree trunk, against the ground-leaning branches, and nestled in the foliage. As I passed today, I remembered shrieks of joy as the children were set loose in all directions to search for and stockpile as many eggs as they could find.
When I reached the end of Main Green, I passed through another sycamore-lined alleyway to the East Green. I have a tender spot for East Green because it was the first time I encountered the Village Green. I still remember sitting down on the grass to savor this special place, with such grand trees and the impressive vanishing trick it performs daily: to enfold one in the middle of Los Angeles with not a car nor street in sight.
When I reached the end of Main Green, I passed through another sycamore-lined alleyway to the East Green. I have a tender spot for East Green because it was the first time I encountered the Village Green. I still remember sitting down on the grass to savor this special place, with such grand trees and the impressive vanishing trick it performs daily: to enfold one in the middle of Los Angeles with not a car nor street in sight.
 |  |
I continued past the brown poppy flowerbeds that in springtime transform this area of our community into a symphony of orange. Then – about 12 minutes since I stepped out my door – I crossed the halfway point of my loop, marking the turn homeward.
Sometimes, after passing this halfway point (when I want to delay the inevitable ending) I duck down a side path to extend my walk. I usually discover something new – a plant, a bird, a quirky back patio – that I put in my memory pocket.
Because I walk the Green regularly, I see it change year-round. I see trees, like the saucer magnolia, puff into leaf and flower, then go slowly bald. I watch plain green plants, such as the abundant agapanthus, shoot out like slow organic fireworks, new stems of intricate shape and color. I hear birdsong rise and fall as migrating birds arrive and journey on. At this time of year there is so much change as the Green sheds its golden-brown canopy of leaves onto the grassy floor. For much of my life I lived oblivious to this wondrous flow of nature. Yet when I walk the Green and pay close attention, it is everywhere.
Sometimes, after passing this halfway point (when I want to delay the inevitable ending) I duck down a side path to extend my walk. I usually discover something new – a plant, a bird, a quirky back patio – that I put in my memory pocket.
Because I walk the Green regularly, I see it change year-round. I see trees, like the saucer magnolia, puff into leaf and flower, then go slowly bald. I watch plain green plants, such as the abundant agapanthus, shoot out like slow organic fireworks, new stems of intricate shape and color. I hear birdsong rise and fall as migrating birds arrive and journey on. At this time of year there is so much change as the Green sheds its golden-brown canopy of leaves onto the grassy floor. For much of my life I lived oblivious to this wondrous flow of nature. Yet when I walk the Green and pay close attention, it is everywhere.
 |  |
The Village Green is more than its greenery, though. I have found a regular pleasure in greeting one man who, walking slowly with hands behind his back, nods his head gently when I pass him. A woman I see sometimes walks while reading an ebook; something about this union of physical and mental activity delights me. This morning I passed a father following two steps behind his young daughter who angled first left and then right, making stuttered steps with pristine joy.
One day, after living at the Village Green for some time, and having settled into these regular walks, I became aware of the low hum of traffic, interspersed with a tire squeal or car horn, that breaks into this green sanctuary. I felt disappointed: I wanted this to be a respite from the manic busyness of the sprawling city. In time, however, I’ve come to cherish the interruption. Like a mindfulness bell, it reminds me of what is present: the tranquility of the garden within the noise of the concrete jungle.
By the time I arrived back at my doorstep, about thirty minutes later, I was awake for a second time; awake to all the forms of life around me; awake to my body moving in space; awake to knowing that my thoughts are just one part of my experience. I began my day with a little more space in it.
By the time I arrived back at my doorstep, about thirty minutes later, I was awake for a second time; awake to all the forms of life around me; awake to my body moving in space; awake to knowing that my thoughts are just one part of my experience. I began my day with a little more space in it.
A note from the Communications Committee
If you'd like to submit a piece for publication here on our News & Articles page or in the print edition of Highlights, please email [email protected].
Words, photos, illustrations, and videos - they're all welcome!
Your submission will be reviewed by ComCom and posted to the site if approved. When there is space available for more creative materials to be published in Highlights, we'll do our best to include your work in the printed newsletter, too.
If you'd like to submit a piece for publication here on our News & Articles page or in the print edition of Highlights, please email [email protected].
Words, photos, illustrations, and videos - they're all welcome!
Your submission will be reviewed by ComCom and posted to the site if approved. When there is space available for more creative materials to be published in Highlights, we'll do our best to include your work in the printed newsletter, too.
RSS Feed