It seems that everyone has a different tolerance for cities. For some reason my tolerance has all but disappeared. One day. Thats about all I can do in a city these days. Even great cities. Too much cement and not enough breathing space. I think thats what it comes down to. I run from park to park like I’m being pursued, seeking refuge deep in the forests. When I’m in the city I tend to find the quiet spots and hunker down. I can smell green space from a mile away. Or 12 miles away. Even on a main highway between Washington D.C and Baltimore. Amidst freeways, suburbs, and the hustle and bustle that comes with 2 metropolises in such close proximity, there is a tiny respite called Greenbelt national park. A small pocket of heaven with a campground, hiking trails, deer, picnic tables, BBQ’s, and a huge green lawn to spread out on. I have a day to kill before visiting friends in Baltimore and this is where I will spend it. I will read, I will write, I will hike and stretch and craft and draw. I will drink strong cowboy coffee and grill vegetables over the fire. I will avoid the city like the plague because it burnt me out yesterday. I loved DC, I really did, and I look forwards to Baltimore, but I just can’t do them back to back without a bit of respite. It seems I’ve become a bit wild in my travels. After so many days sleeping outside, bathing in the ocean and rivers, and making tea on my tiny camp stove, I simply ache to be outside. Outside, where I can hear crickets and cicadas in the trees and where I can spot familiar plants. I’m a bit frightened to go back home to be honest, back to a world where these pockets are only within reach on weekends.