Walking my dogs has become a new form of meditation as I imagine it has for many people confined to their rooms for what feels like an eternity, but as Virginia Woolf once wrote in her private letters: “I need solitude. I need space. I need air. I need the empty fields round me; and my legs pounding along roads; and sleep; and animal existence.” Solitude is a means by which we not only come to know ourselves better, but is perhaps, more importantly, also a strange and beautiful opportunity to reacquaint ourselves with the outside living world.

Sometimes uncertainty yields wonder—images that have always been there waiting for our eyes to take them in. In our fervor to succeed, to leave behind some discernible mark, proving that we were ever here to begin with, we often disregard the small and seemingly insubstantial narratives that unfold every day as we rush past.

Ultimately, a pandemic of this magnitude represents a time of disruption and horrendous cultural upheaval, but it also affords us, unwittingly, an enforced period of self-reflection. It is our choice what form this takes, but it is undeniably necessary to foster a relationship to our own curiosity—sadly, right now the situation affords us this opportunity. Much of the great art that exists in the world was made in response to tragedy and war—to people seeking solace in each other as the world around them literally crumbled.

The obvious difference between events like WWI or WWII is that with this pandemic, we’ve been forced to separate, unable to forge human connections as a means of comforting each other and bolstering our morale. Within this newfound and sometimes profound sense of isolation, perhaps we can forge new inroads within ourselves, and truly begin to “see” with a renewed sense of possibility. Walking the dogs has proven fruitful for me in more ways than one, and I’ve begun to allow myself the time and effortlessness to simply walk through the world, attending to beauty when and where I can.

All images by Eve Wood.