The Sublime

Sublime—a: lofty, grand, or exalted in thought, expression, or manner b: of outstanding spiritual, intellectual, or moral worth c: tending to inspire awe usually because of elevated quality (as of beauty, nobility, or grandeur) or transcendent excellence

The word "sublime" was also used slightly differently in literary circles in England (and Europe) during the 18th and 19th centuries. To the description above was added a notion of terrible or fearsome. So, something was sublime if it was both beautiful and dangerous. For example, the Alps were considered sublime because they were at once beautiful and picturesque mountains and dangerous—a place of landslides and avalanches, a place of getting lost or falling to one's death or freezing. You get the idea.

This evening I went walking in the park at dusk, and by the time I was finished with a couple of laps, night was nearly upon me.

A storm dropping heavy rain had passed through only half an hour before, but the western sky opened up just for the last moments of the setting sun. Birds of many kinds were singing in the trees all around the park or grabbing snacks out of the grass or drinking from newly formed pools. Water trickled and gurgled in the grass and dripped from the trees. For a time in the second half of my first lap, a cool drizzle danced on these storm pools and the frog pond. In the distance, the mountains to the south—toward North Carolina—were wreathed in mist.

As I began my second lap, the green in the trees began to grow black with shadows. The sun was down, and the light of day was fading fast. The songs of the birds slowly faded as the singers went to roost. The bellowing of the bullfrogs in the marshy rim of the pond took over.

Johnson City hummed beyond the dog run, beyond the trees to the east. The occasional car or truck passed the upper and lower entrances to the park, but none turned in at the gates.

I was alone in the park.

So, the birds grew quiet, the bullfrogs haunted the pond and darkness fell, lending a sublime quality to the place where I walked.

Admittedly, I have a vivid imagination. I could easily imagine how the beautiful evening could turn dangerous. As I walked through the section bordering the pond, a section in which the sides of the trail seem to close in and become almost like a tunnel, images came to mind of highwaymen and wild beasts. I could picture myself as I might appear to some watcher in the woods, be it human or inhuman. Creepy stuff! I could feel the hairs on arms and legs and the back of my neck responding, the goose flesh. My imagination is quite convincing at times.

Then again, we constantly hear on the news of all sorts of violence befalling people who put themselves in potentially dangerous situations, such as walking alone in a park at night.

I'm safe at home now and ready for bed and sweet dreams.