I often wander the Botanic Gardens in search of spots to sit, watch the leaves on the trees, and write. Lately, I have been drawn to a grove of Eastern Pines on a hill. I treasure the atmosphere of contained solitude and secrecy which the semi-circle of pines create…there is simultaneously a distance from the human world, and an absorption into the natural world, which I find intoxicating. This week, I explored the space with more intention–attempting to articulate the sense of security and ease I feel when embraced by the pine needle floor and ceiling. It takes me back to my first nature memory, when I crawled into a spherical bush at a playground, and had a deep sense of awe and joy, as if returning home.

This week, while wandering the garden, I came across an “L” shaped branch jutting from the side of a tree–it seemed to be asking me to lay on it. As I climbed on, laid back, my eyes glazed over as I watched the leaves of Sycamore and Oak trees sparkle and dance in the mid-day breeze, drenched in sunlight–it was stunning…unbelievable, actually. My eyes saw the site, but my mind could not fully comprehend the ecstatic life of the projection. I let it wash over me, trying not to think too hard. An indiscernible amount of time later, I wandered into the Pine grove. I decided to fashion a temporary seat for myself out of fallen branches (from a recent thunder storm), in order to limit the number of large ants that crawl up the legs of my pants then vanish–an occurrence I find quite disturbing. By criss-crossing two fairly large, bent branches, I created a sort of lattice sitting spot, raised off the ground by the curve of the branches. In this spot, I pondered: What is a fundamental part of human suffering today? I believe it is to be severed from the natural world, to forget our place in it, to be conditioned to become emotionally blind, apathetic, and separate. A tragedy of our time. I wonder if starting with my own return to nature, each of us returning to nature on our own, might be the start of healing ourselves within a broken society, which would expand to include relationships, and eventually the world?

I sat in the grove, beneath the ceiling of Pine needles, on a makeshift seat of branches, the Amtrak train barreled past, a light breeze rustled the green leaves of small oak trees, birds spoke to one another, mosquitos circled a beam of light, a solitary bee searched for its nest. This is the place, I thought. Full of gratitude.

“Lucky, this time and place, is chosen as my working place” -W.H. Auden