Dark green Norway spruces bordered each side of the abandoned road. The trees, planted by design many years ago now reached sixty feed up into a leaden April sky. The upsweeping branches arched over the road creating the quieting effect of a cathedral nave, an entranceway into the sacred realm of nature, a realm I wanted to wander in , a realm I needed to connect with. Walking beneath the spruce boughs I recalled something I had recently read in…
6:40 a.m. Approach I drove the golf cart down the Perimeter Road of Isla Muheres, a slender six mile long island off the coast of Cancun. Peering out toward the Caribbean in the faint pre-dawn light I could just see the long white crests of waves rolling shoreward. Over the whine of the golf cart motor I could just hear the rolling thump-crash of waves breaching upon rocks and sand. Headlights on I kept watch for the brutal topes, the…
Only a 15% charge on my phone. Foolish to head into the woods to sit for an hour in 10 degree wind chill without a way to communicate. After plugging in the phone, I sat quietly and read, glad to have a few moments to draw in to the world of impressions and ideas. I thought about my intentions for the sit spot ahead. Having recently read how each locale in nature has its own unique sound patterns and its…
“I became fully aware of the wind. I heard the gusts approaching as they rattled the branches, sometimes a wave of wind to my left, sometimes a wave to my right, and sometimes the wind bore down across the open lake, the cold breeze biting at my face, causing me to hunker down.” The Stillness of the Living Forest: A Year of Listening and Learning. Week 2: A Stiff Breeze from the Northwest. Page 25 An immersion in waves of…
The Theme For many years a string of beaver ponds, like shiny pearls on a necklace, ran along a little unnamed creek that flowed through a shallow valley of second growth woods and overgrown pastures just a half mile from my house. While taking walks I always enjoyed pausing and looking at the ponds, seeing the open water that reflected the sky and registered the wind, watching the geese, ducks and herons that lived there, and discovering the work zones…
In her book, Radical Joy for Hard Times, Trebbe Johnson wrote “…each place possesses its own particular presence, a dynamic animate force that the Romans called the genius loci, or soul of the place. The personality of this genius loci is formed by the entire human and natural history of the place and continues to express itself in the kinds of experiences people have there.” As I read this passage I knew that I had to return to my home…
I began my walk near the high sand cliffs facing the Atlantic Ocean. This shoreline was a battleground between land and ocean. The low growing plants and grasses did their best to stabilize and hold the ground while the relentless wind and waves and tides nibbled and gobbled inches and feet of shoreline every year. Standing at the Marconi Beach outlook in the Cape Cod National Seashore, I could visualize the location where in 1903 the first transatlantic telegraph message…
4:33 a.m. Wake Up Eyes open, wide awake. I had set the alarm for 5 knowing full well that I would be too late to be in the field at sunrise. But last night my lazy self couldn’t face getting up before 5. Yet some part of my mind had registered the 5:13 sunrise time and now that same part of my mind was rousing me from my sleep. My sit spot mind knew the rewards for being present at…
(John-5:30 a.m.) Very different thoughts ran through my mind as I drove the familiar route to Prompton Lake on my way to an early morning sit spot. Today I would be achieving a long held goal, sharing the sit spot experience with another, in this case my friend Jerry. This was an opportunity to see if others experienced the same nature magic that I did. This would be my chance to confirm if my methods for blending in, for achieving…
Down the well-groomed, well-marked, sandy-surfaced trail I stepped. I could have easily driven to the lot at the end of the park and walked quickly out to the little island where I planned to do my sit spot. Instead, I chose to stroll a mile along the trail through the woods, to take the time to tune my senses, to open my awareness, to bring my attention to the present. The whitish-tan sand scrunched ever so softly under my shoes….