Walking is a way to explore and find new places, as well as experience the natural world. When we walk at night, our brain activity increases in parts of the cortex that are associated with memory and creativity making for an entirely unique walking experience.
Walking at night is a magical experience. The darkness allows for your eyes to see things that are normally hidden in the day time. Here are some quotes about walking at night. Read more in detail here: night walks quotes.
“The most crucial thing to do is adjust your attitude,” Alastair Humphreys says in Microadventures, “if you want to start integrating microadventures into your life.” Going someplace you’re familiar with but at night might assist with this mental change.”
There is something wonderful about going out at night and exploring. Other sensations are heightened while your vision dims. You pay greater attention and notice more things. Even regular, well-known areas get a new appearance. Inner quiet is easy to find, and your mind will feel refreshed and invigorated.
In “Night and Moonlight,” Henry David Thoreau wrote on the charm of evening walks. A shortened version of that essay may be seen here. Take a moonlight stroll of your own, even if it’s only around the block, to get a sense of what Thoreau describes.
After taking a spectacular moonlight stroll a few years ago, I determined to take more of these excursions and get to know another side of Nature. That is exactly what I did.
If I can conquer some kingdoms from the night — if I can report to the gazettes anything happening around us at that time worthy of their notice — if I can show men that there is some beauty awake when they are sleeping — if I can contribute to the domains of poetry, I will be a benefactor.
Night is unquestionably more interesting and less vulgar than daytime. I quickly learned that I knew nothing about it save its appearance, and that I had only seen the moon through a gap in a shutter on rare occasions. Why don’t you take a little stroll in her light? Will it not be quite different from anything in literature or religion if you pay attention to the moon’s ideas for a month, usually in vain? But why don’t you learn Sanskrit? What if one moon has passed me by, with its world of poetry, strange lessons, and oracular ideas — such a magnificent creature full of clues for me, and I haven’t taken advantage of her — one moon has passed me by unnoticed?
It must be admitted that the moon’s light, although enough for the contemplative wanderer and not excessive in comparison to the inner light we have, is much inferior in quality and intensity to that of the sun. However, the moon should not be assessed just on the basis of the amount of light she delivers to us, but also on the basis of her effect on the planet and its people. “The moon is attracted to the earth, and the earth is attracted to the moon.” When a poet walks by moonlight, he notices a flow in his thoughts that may be attributed to lunar influence.
Many guys stroll during the day, but just a handful at night. It’s a whole different season now. Take, for example, a July evening. The beauty of moonlight may be observed over lonely meadows where cattle are calmly eating about ten o’clock, when man is sleeping and day has mostly faded away. On all sides, there are new things to see. Instead of the sun, there’s the moon and stars; instead of the wood thrush, there’s the whippoorwill; and instead of butterflies in the meadows, there’s fireflies, flying sparks of light! — who’d have guessed? In those dewy abodes connected with a spark of fire, what type of calm, thoughtful life resides? As a result, man has fire in his eyes, blood, and brain. Instead of singing birds, there’s the half-throated note of a passing cuckoo, the croaking of frogs, and the more profound dream of crickets — but most of all, the beautiful trump of the bullfrog, which may be heard from Maine to Georgia. The potato vines are tall, the maize is growing quickly, the shrubs loom large, and the grain fields are endless. They seem to dominate the land like an army on our broad river terraces, previously farmed by the Indians, their heads waving in the wind. Small trees and plants may be seen strewn around, as if they’ve been flooded. The shadows of rocks, trees, plants, and hills are more noticeable than the actual items. The shadows expose even the tiniest abnormalities in the ground, and what the feet find relatively smooth seems rough and varied as a result. Similarly, the whole terrain is more varied and gorgeous at night than it is during the day. The ferns in the wood seem to be tropical in scale, and the tiniest nooks in the rocks are gloomy and cavernous. Sweet-fern and indigo in overgrown wood-paths drench you up to your waist in dew. The leaves of the shrub oak are gleaming as if they were dipped in a liquid. The ponds, which can be seen through the trees, are as bright as the sky. As the Purana states of the ocean, “the light of the day seeks shelter in their bosoms.” White items stand out more than they do during the day. On a slope, a distant cliff appears like a phosphorescent area. The woods are dense and ominous. Nature is dozing off. You can see the moonlight reflected off certain stumps in the forest’s nooks and crannies, as if she chose what to shine on. These little bits of her light remind me of the moonseed plant, as if the moon were seeding it in these locations.
The eyes are partially closed or retreat into the head during night. Other senses are in charge. The walker is also led by his or her sense of smell. Every plant, field, and woodland now has its own distinct aroma — swamp-pink in the meadow, tansy along the road, and the unique dry scent of corn beginning to show its tassels. Hearing and olfactory senses are both more alert. We hear a tinkling of rills that we hadn’t heard previously. You pass through a layer of heated air from time to time, high up on the slopes of hills, a blast that has risen up from the sweltering plains of midday. It depicts a day, with bright noontide hours and banks, a worker wiping his forehead and a bee buzzing among the flowers. It’s the air that men have breathed after they’ve done their task. Now that the sun has set, it scurries from wooded slope to wooded hillside, like a puppy looking for its master. The sun’s warmth is retained by the rocks throughout the night. So does the sand: a warm bed may be found if you delve a few inches into it.
At midnight, you lay on your back on a rock in a field on the crest of a barren hill, speculating on the height of the starry canopy. The stars are the gems of the night, and they may even outshine what the day has to offer. On a very windy, but beautiful moonlight night, when the stars were scarce and weak, a buddy with whom I was sailing felt that a man could get by with them, even though he was severely reduced in his circumstances — that they were a type of bread and cheese that never failed.
How unbearable the days would be if the night, with its dews and shadows, did not arrive to revive the drooping earth! As the shadows begin to gather about us, our primal instincts awaken, and we emerge from our caves like jungle dwellers in quest of those quiet and brooding ideas that are the intellect’s natural prey.
“The planet is constantly draped in the veil of night for the same reason that bird cages are darkened,” Richter argues, “namely, so humans may more easily perceive the higher harmonies of thinking in the silence and quiet of darkness.” Thoughts that turn to smoke and mist during the day become light and flames at night, much as the column that rises over Vesuvius’ crater looks to be a pillar of cloud during the day but a pillar of fire at night.”
There are nights in this climate of such serene and majestic beauty, so medicinal and fertilizing to the spirit, that methinks a sensitive nature would not devote them to oblivion, and perhaps no man would be better and wiser for spending them out of doors, even if he would have to sleep all day the next day to make up for it.
The moon is compared to a holy individual who has reached the end of his or her physical life by Hindus. Great antiquarian restorer and enchanter! On a calm night, when the harvest or hunter’s moon shines brightly, the homes in our hamlet, no matter what architect they had during the day, recognise just a master. The village roadway is as wild as the jungle at this point. It’s difficult to tell what’s new and what’s old. I’m not sure whether I’m sitting on the remains of a wall or the material that will be used to build a new one. Nature is a well-informed and unbiased instructor who will not propagate any unsavory ideas or flatter anybody; she will not be radical or conservative. Consider the moonlight, which is both polite and wild. Our understanding is more proportional to the light than it is to the day. The moonlight is as brilliant as our most lighted moments on regular evenings, yet it is no more dark than our mind’s usual milieu.
Make sure to listen to Erling Kagge’s podcast about the magic of walking:
The “solvitur ambulando art of manliness” is a quote from the Roman poet Virgil. It means, “It is solved by walking.” The article explains the magic of walking at night.
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