I had occasionally noticed you over the years, and I was always intrigued by you. Your beauty, your strength, your ability to go with the flow. I always felt a connection with you, and I thought you were pretty cool, but I was so busy living this life of mine that I didn’t really give you too much thought.
However, in March of 2020, when the whole world seemed to turn upside down, it was you whom I longed for. It was your voice I heard through the chatter and the fear and the uncertainty. “Come to me,” you said. My curiosity and my desire to be comforted allowed me to answer your call. I found you in the sky, in the earth, in the creatures, and in the very air that entered my mouth, my lungs, my being. You invited me to dance with you, to sit with you, to play with you. You allowed me to come and go as I pleased, always available, always meeting me at a moment’s notice.
I even brought my children to you, and they received you by coming alive in your presence. You taught them the joy of exploration. You held them so tenderly while they rolled down your hills, laughing, only to run right back up and do it again. You showed them the magnificence of worms and caterpillars and birds and butterflies. Never once did you turn them away or complain about their digging, running, climbing, or shouting.
So I thank you, dear nature, for sharing your world with me. For loving my children so well. You never cease to amaze me, and I have a feeling this is just the beginning for you and me. In fact, what do you think about us spending the rest of our lives together? (P.S. My husband is onto us, and if you’re okay with it, I’d love to bring him on board. I know he will love you as much as I do.)
The Overstory, by Richard Powers. I have zero regrets about the hours and hours spent reading this Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. Whether or not you enjoy hugging trees, this book has the ability to shift your perspective on our magnificent green planet.