A walk that became a conversation with the earth — soft, unplanned, and unforgettable.
We didn’t step out looking for anything that morning. There was no agenda — just that soft sense of wanting to walk. And so, I went with my friend… letting the quiet of Lonavala nature blanket wrap around us.
There is something about early mornings in nature — the way even the Silence feels like company.
We walked slowly, talking in bits, sometimes falling into silence — the comfortable kind, where presence does all the speaking. The path was simple, just earth and green and a few bends. Then came the wildflower yellow blooms — playful, scattered, full of sun.
Photo by Reshma Ashar
I felt like reaching for one. And then paused.
“Let’s just let them be,” I said. My friend nodded.
There was something sacred in watching them bloom right where they belonged.
A little further, the trail dipped. And there it was — A moment that did not announce itself, but stayed forever.
A small stream — more like a puddle, really — with Kadamba flower buds floating in it. Some bright yellow, some soft brown, some somewhere
in between. They looked like they had gently rained down just for us.
It was magic.
We both just… stopped.
Photo by Reshma Ashar
“Look at them,” I whispered. “Like tiny brush balls — like little worlds.”
We crouched down, touched the earth, and played a little — like children.
Swirling the water, watching the flowers float, laughing softly. It felt like time had slowed. Like we had stepped into a space where wonder still
existed in its purest form.
That’s when I remembered:
Ichigo Ichie.
This Japanese phrase I love.
One time, one meeting.
A moment that will never happen again in exactly the same way.
And this — this was that moment.
We didn’t say much. We didn’t need to. Just two friends, knees muddy,
hands cupping soft petals, hearts full. Everything felt complete just as it was.
As we walked ahead, the trail gave us more beauty — lavender blooms shaped like little cups of light, bees weaving in and out, like they were humming their own prayers. Madhu Malti vines trailed gently along gates, and at one point, some dogs barked from afar. We paused, but didn’t rush.
Just breathed and kept walking. And the moment passed.
Near the end, white blossoms had fallen to the ground, like tiny offerings. We only picked what was already let go of by the trees, and laid them gently into a small nature mandala. Our quiet thank you.
By the time we returned, we hadn’t gone far. But something in us had shifted. We did click a few photos on our phones, trying to hold on to what felt too big for the frame.
But the real memories?
They were the ones that touched our hearts, captured only by our eyes, unfiltered, soft, alive.
And even now, that feeling is still with me — Fresh and golden like the Kadamba blooms.
Photo by Sayee Girdhari
Some walks take you somewhere.
Others return you to yourself.
That day, under the Kadamba showers, we remembered how to slow down, how to notice, how to be.
🌿 Ichigo Ichie.
This moment. This breath. This quiet wonder.
About the author: Reshma Ashar is a psychologist by profession. She helps people reconnect with nature through Shinrin Yoku—Healing Through Nature Walks. She believes nature has a powerful ability to heal and loves guiding others to find peace, clarity, and balance outdoors.
