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IMG_2997When I enter into a wild place of any size, whether it’s a storm-drenched mountainside, or just the cool shade of a spreading tree, or when an evening walk takes me by a corner lot sprung with new wild flowers, for a time I enter the presence of that place — if I stop long enough to drop in, to sense it. There is a presence there.  If I am still and curious, I feel it.

I feel it better if I pass that place a second time and tarry a bit longer now.  Soon, the spot becomes familiar; later it becomes a friend.  There is a mutual greeting.  An affection grows.  Who knows who recognizes who?  Clearly there are living things here, living presences. Might they be aware of me, aware of them?

Any relationship grows with attention, with interest and listening. If my mind jumps and turns with my own concerns and worries, my eyes see the land without truly seeing it. I miss the gift.  I hear without hearing.  My “static” keeps the gentle beauty of things from flowing into me.

Things are often simple.  We don’t often encounter grand sunsets, eagles, immense trees and dramatic mountains.  Usually we encounter simple trees, little tufts of grass and bushes, songbirds. These things have wonderful beauty, too, if I look at them, see them with attention and respect.  Simple places and simple things can whisper to me, if I’m willing to hear.  I arrive home enriched.

Read more about Words of the Land: A Philosophy of Connection

Read the Poem of the Week

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