While the first week of the internship draws to a close, I’ve found myself more aware of day-to-day nature. As someone fortunate to live in close proximity to a vast array of flora and fauna, I fear I had begun to view the natural world as mere backdrop — as nothing more than an aesthetically pleasing side attraction. I’d go outside, sure, but not purely for the purpose of going outside; instead, I’d lie in the garden while reading, while eating lunch, while procrastinating an unwanted assignment from Zoom University. I’d go outside to exercise or write poetry or feed the sheep. For my heedless pre-Paulson self, the Great Outdoors existed as a place in the same way the laundry room or pantry functions as a place — as a means to an end. I didn’t venture out into the world beyond my windowpane purely for the purpose of recognizing and appreciating that outside space. My thoughts were constantly elsewhere, and I was unaware of the potency of moss covered logs or scattered pebbles or sprouting snow peas plants.

Henceforth, I’ll endeavor to take time each day to simply exist in nature sans distraction.  I don’t merely want to bask in the beauty of nature cultivated for the human eye; yes, the flowers in the driveway may be pleasing to the onlooker, but I hope to recognize the sublime in the conventionally ‘unbeautiful’ as well. Bugs swarming decaying plantlife. Compost as it ages into soil. Salamanders lurking beneath stream bed stones. These seemingly small aspects of the natural world play a vital role in its ecology, and I want to realize the potency of the minute, the overlooked.

While lying in the garden near the raspberries bushes this week, the 4 pm sun a warm blur in the periwinkle sky, I realized how much I take simple things — like weather — for granted. The sunlight on my skin felt like some sort of magic, and I fleetingly imagined what it might be like to photosynthesis. Rather than simply basking in the June sun, I’d like to explore and unpack the way weather evokes certain moods or feelings. How does my sense of being morph as the sky sizzles, a pre-thunderstorm gloom etching itself across the heavens? Why does rain on a metal rooftop make me feel more balanced, more at ease? Do I feel different lying in my garden beneath a midnight moon rather than the afternoon sun?  During these 6 weeks (and ideally beyond!) I plant to center myself in nature through the written word as well as though visual art, exploring and unpacking my weather-inspired feelings by way of graphite to page. I concede that is phrased in a rather vague way… we’ll, uh, just see what happens!