My sit spot is beside a large oak tree near the Sisters Chapel lawn at Spelman College. From where I sit, I can see the pathway that leads toward the center of campus, with benches lining one side and patches of grass and flower beds on the other. Across the open space I can see the white columns of the Chapel in the distance, and to my right there’s a tall lamppost that lights up at night. If I were to draw it, my map would show a few oak trees near the center, the chapel to the east, and the path to the north.

I close my eyes and take slow, deep breaths. The first thing I notice is the steady hum of city life in the distance. There are cars moving along the road beyond the gates. I hear faint conversations, footsteps on pavement, and the rhythmic chirp of cicadas in bushes. The quietest sound might be the rustle of tiny leaves moving high above me. The loudest is the occasional car horn or shout that echoes faintly from somewhere off campus. The air smells warm, earthy, and faintly sweet, like cut grass mixed with something floral I can’t quite name. There’s also a hint of dust and heat from the brick walkway that’s been baking in the sun.

Sitting here makes me feel both still and aware. It’s quiet but not silent. It’s alive in a subtle way. I feel part of the place instead of just in it. The sounds and smells remind me how close nature still is, even in the middle of a city campus. It’s grounding to realize that this spot will change a little each week, and I’ll get to watch that happen.