Being into the grip of depression is like being cursed, it is like being in a war of attrition with oneself.
One cowers into a slavery of dismal thoughts that gnaws at the mind. Enthusiasm is corroded to naught and one becomes steeped into a ghastly state of inaction.
My propensity to awake late and a paralyzing reluctance to get out of bed, had ruined many a days for me. Yet, today I found myself redeemed by a spur of the moment strong desire to go for a walk. It was a walk full of promises. The sun shone brightly and radiated intense heat that was, somehow, allayed by a soft cool wind. The air carried the smell of cut grass, the rich scent of wild flowers and the luscious aroma of fruits of the earth. Small creatures fluttered nearby. Spindly webs stretched between bush branches and a spider moved dexterously along here and there.
I had taken the road that follows indistinctly the railway line from Whinhill to Drumfrochar, a road that cut through field of meadows and dense unkempt vegetation, an intertwined growth of long grass, brackens, thistle, self-heal, common ragworts, blackberry and raspberry bushes. And, as I had anticipated, the raspberry bushes were adorned with a multitude of plump red and purple fruits that glowed in the sun like precious rubies of nature, ripe for the taking. Their vivid colors and sweet aroma soon tempted me and I embarked upon the activity of foraging, now and then, biting at one fruit whose sweet and fresh juice tingle my tongue so deliciously before trickling down my throat. The taste of summer, if ever there was one.
My endeavor brought me to a path up the hill where I found more shrubbery speckled with raspberries to satiate my craving.
Further along, there was the remains of what could have been a barn and the vegetation had grown around and through it. Various trees were thriving; there were hawthorns, beeches and birches, alders and fine specimen of wild cherry trees with tiny red fruits starting to appear among their branches. Clumps of forget-me-not arose among the grass on the trackside, their bright blue color catching my eye.
I proceeded along the path until I arrived at a junction. Then I stepped into a tiny track, bordered with wild vegetation, that ran downhill and led into a dense section of woods. Slender trees arose among the thick undergrowth of ferns, nettle and diverse blossoming shrubbery. The sunlight played through the verdant canopy that the wind kept in constant motion. There was an atmosphere of peace that I found soothing.
So far had I been absorbed in this dreamlike mood that, when I emerged from the woods and found myself on Berryyard road, the afternoon was far advanced.
I walked under the railway bridge and rejoined Drumfrochar road at the intersection with Lynedoch street where a small patch of unattended land bordered the road; it was overgrown with a mixture of bramble shrubs, thistle and common ragwort, a mass of golden hue speckled with pink and green.