Now that it’s officially Fall, I’m drawn once again to the reds and oranges of leaves preparing to let go of their trees. I can’t just watch from behind closed windows; my body yearns to be immersed in the crisp colors of Fall. This morning, as part of Grateful Living‘s pathway toward building a life of belonging, I received an email invitation to explore my relationship with the natural world. The invitation prompted me to list five ways that the natural world has provided for me. I know that my body craves the outdoors, but what exactly does the natural world provide for me?
As I considered the question, I reflected on my adventures over the past few weeks. I’ve been camping twice, once near Yellowstone and another time closer to home. In the past week, I’ve found myself on the trail three times: first to the waterfall at North Fork Park, then to Strong’s Canyon in Ogden, and, yesterday, to Coldwater Canyon in North Ogden.
This morning, after reading the email from Grateful Living, I breathed these experiences into my body. When I picked up my journal, this flowed from my pen:
When I’m in nature, I laugh. At the Artists’ Paintpots in Yellowstone, the earth flings up globs of murky gray mud that plink and plunk their way back into their soupy pot. I can’t watch the display without giggles that bloom into full-bodied laughter. When I stop to pay attention, the natural world fills me with joy.
When I am in nature, I’m constantly in awe. Red-orange leaves pop against dark chocolate branches, backgrounded by vibrant blue sky. A spider’s web, a glistening, multi-spoked orb suspended between two trees. Viewed from the rock upon which I sat, the web fluttered in a breeze I hadn’t yet noticed. Picking my way up the creek, I found the web nearly invisible when viewed head-on. I smiled. A sliver of nature reminding me to rest in the beauty of things just as they are.
When I awake, window open to the cool morning air, the birds chirp me into consciousness. Nature calling me to presence with its very being.
When I awake in my tent in the middle of the night, stars, galaxies, and planets shimmer like dust across the space gray black blue sky. Universal dandruff. The star dust in me calls to the star dust in you, and I am home.
Nature–the night sky, a vast canyon, an orange-leafed tree tunnel–reminds me of my insignificance. None of the daily clatter of being a human in this world matters. When I look up from my laptop, when I put down my phone, I hear birds calling and squirrels chattering. I go to the window and stare into the endless blue sky. I open the door, stepping chilled feet onto warm concrete. A box elder bug flits across my path. Wind rustles the tops of the pine trees. I greet a snail as kindred spirit. Life happens, whether I notice it or not.
When I step outside, worries fall from my branches. Relieved of my burdens, the mud, the spider’s web, the birds, and the stars call me to life. I root into Earth, pulling nourishment into my soul. I am tall. I am strong. I am breath. I am laughter. I am here, exactly where I’m supposed to be.