There is a place I like to go when I need to think or just let things percolate in my brain. Its not particular scenic, it doesn't have particular sentimental attachment, it doesn't have any particular highlights - but for me, I know that when I hop over the stile, or leapfrog the gate - it all falls away.
And rain or shine, through slushy mud, or sun-baked soil, I can stumble and mumble to myself for half an hour or two until time or tiredness drags me back to the gate and stile.
Such is the way of the wonder of outside that it doesn't have to be a stunning vista, or a glorious coastline, a path that runs through countryside, meandering by a river or stream, it just has to be somewhere that you feel comfortable, where the small problems of the world (which is really only your problems) drift away or seem entirely small in comparison to the big-ness of the world.
My place is a bit scratty. There are tall pine trees left to wither and fall, there are dark places that seem almost malevolent in winter, there are areas of devastation where man has attempted to conquer the wild and failed spectacularly. But still the place remains.
So off I stumble, jumping water-logged holes, crunching over fallen branches, getting scragged by nettle and bramble. And for that time, all that matters is that wander.
Everybody is different. Some prefer to go with friends. Some with their children. Maybe a four-legged friend accompanies you. And a natter, a chat with that person or 'friend' is the process that helps to list the worries of the day away.
It doesn't matter where. It doesn't matter whether you run, walk, meander, stumble, sit or stare. It only matters to take the time to do it. To give yourself the time to breathe, to be.
Do you have a place where you always go? That place that's no where particular, no where special but that matters to you...