Thank you, Robert. I have had favourite places whereever I lived. Even here in urban Toronto, amidst the concrete and ashphalt, the cars and trucks, I have found a small patch of natural beauty. In my front yard, where I am fortunate to commune with the birds, squirrels, a skunk or two, an oppossum, and a grey cat.
This is my ritual, my passage to my better self, to feed them and talk to them and, the important part, the hardest one, to listen. I am also fodtunate that Arya the Cockatiel is teaching me the Patience of not doing. But of Being. There is a season for everything and this Winter I want to do less. Only what is necessary.
This is beautifully written. Being a city girl born and bred I've only just started to discover the serenity of nature and what it means to feel like part of the world. The grief I feel every time I see more land being developed is indescribable. I wonder what it'll take for people to realise that once it's gone it's gone and we won't be getting it back in this lifetime at the very least.
Beautifully written, my heart gasped quietly - thank you. Can too many dwelling places dampen the quest for belonging? Detachment is promulgated as a source of wisdom but l often wonder now what has become slowly scythed in the decades-long ramble amongst them all? Wild grasses whispering no longer, streams never gurgling across moss-covered rocks, seeing them yet not. Fresh now gone.
It seems all your past articles led up to this one. I hope it inspires all who read it to get out to or find their Walden Pond, or that path through the woods to a spot of inner and external discovery and peace.
Thank you for sharing your words of wisdom here-the memory of place inspires! I join the appreciation of your readers--yes, keep writing please. I cherish the intimacy we share with the "inhabitants" of nature, the gods that live within our hearts as they disappear from our tender grasp. I, too, can recall the generous inhabitants of a certain place. A protected memory I return to often. That particular elevated point on the California peninsula of my adolescence: the large boulder, alone in the small field, offering its invitation. Nothing borders this brown patch except a winding, two-lane drive for infrequent and singular cars passing below. No fence, crops, pasture, hedges or wild flowers obstructs my entry. Thoughts roamed free there on many school afternoons. I wasn't imprisoned in my seclusion by unwanted addiction, pregnancy or loneliness like some of my peers during the 70's. My heart was eager, felt invited, wanted to show up and get the party started; I felt like I'd burst at the seams. Meanwhile, I rested upon my secure stone, leaned back with knees up to hold my dreams there. I communed with the strong gusts of wind, the passing billowy clouds, the blue-grey Pacific expanse dotted by occasional seagulls floating by overhead. My heart soared in place, until the setting sun bowed its head in response to my gratitude.
Beautiful writing. I live in the UK which is beautiful, but increasingly nature deprived. I have always felt a sense of place wherever I have lived. Even in urban areas I have found and enjoyed nature. I feel so sad that future generations may not experience the things I have been fortunate to experience in my lifetime. And that they won't even know what it is that they have missed.
I have vivid memories of reverent places from childhood, and on occasion I have tried to find them again and failed, sorrow rising in me. The first place I lived after leaving home, a quaint neighborhood near the University I attended was eventually torn down and filled with concrete, chrome and steel. Childhood haunts have turned in to tourist traps, overrun with people who don't care about where they are, beloved institutions have disappeared. I've moved more times in my life than I wish to remember, but finally, in the home I designed myself, I finally feel like I belong. And I love discovering more of who I am within these walls.
My childhood woods and fields and streams are gone now too for housing. My current patch is likely threatened by funding cutbacks. Perhaps it's why my greatest attachment is now to places in the UK, my winter home - nature reserves with little to no chance of being lost: saltmarsh and heathland.
Thank you, Robert. I have had favourite places whereever I lived. Even here in urban Toronto, amidst the concrete and ashphalt, the cars and trucks, I have found a small patch of natural beauty. In my front yard, where I am fortunate to commune with the birds, squirrels, a skunk or two, an oppossum, and a grey cat.
This is my ritual, my passage to my better self, to feed them and talk to them and, the important part, the hardest one, to listen. I am also fodtunate that Arya the Cockatiel is teaching me the Patience of not doing. But of Being. There is a season for everything and this Winter I want to do less. Only what is necessary.
This is beautifully written. Being a city girl born and bred I've only just started to discover the serenity of nature and what it means to feel like part of the world. The grief I feel every time I see more land being developed is indescribable. I wonder what it'll take for people to realise that once it's gone it's gone and we won't be getting it back in this lifetime at the very least.
And if we don’t know where we are….. we don’t know where we’re going. Robert, you are an inspiration. Keep writing. We need you.
Beautifully written, my heart gasped quietly - thank you. Can too many dwelling places dampen the quest for belonging? Detachment is promulgated as a source of wisdom but l often wonder now what has become slowly scythed in the decades-long ramble amongst them all? Wild grasses whispering no longer, streams never gurgling across moss-covered rocks, seeing them yet not. Fresh now gone.
It seems all your past articles led up to this one. I hope it inspires all who read it to get out to or find their Walden Pond, or that path through the woods to a spot of inner and external discovery and peace.
That would be wonderful!
Thank you for sharing your words of wisdom here-the memory of place inspires! I join the appreciation of your readers--yes, keep writing please. I cherish the intimacy we share with the "inhabitants" of nature, the gods that live within our hearts as they disappear from our tender grasp. I, too, can recall the generous inhabitants of a certain place. A protected memory I return to often. That particular elevated point on the California peninsula of my adolescence: the large boulder, alone in the small field, offering its invitation. Nothing borders this brown patch except a winding, two-lane drive for infrequent and singular cars passing below. No fence, crops, pasture, hedges or wild flowers obstructs my entry. Thoughts roamed free there on many school afternoons. I wasn't imprisoned in my seclusion by unwanted addiction, pregnancy or loneliness like some of my peers during the 70's. My heart was eager, felt invited, wanted to show up and get the party started; I felt like I'd burst at the seams. Meanwhile, I rested upon my secure stone, leaned back with knees up to hold my dreams there. I communed with the strong gusts of wind, the passing billowy clouds, the blue-grey Pacific expanse dotted by occasional seagulls floating by overhead. My heart soared in place, until the setting sun bowed its head in response to my gratitude.
Beautiful writing. I live in the UK which is beautiful, but increasingly nature deprived. I have always felt a sense of place wherever I have lived. Even in urban areas I have found and enjoyed nature. I feel so sad that future generations may not experience the things I have been fortunate to experience in my lifetime. And that they won't even know what it is that they have missed.
I have vivid memories of reverent places from childhood, and on occasion I have tried to find them again and failed, sorrow rising in me. The first place I lived after leaving home, a quaint neighborhood near the University I attended was eventually torn down and filled with concrete, chrome and steel. Childhood haunts have turned in to tourist traps, overrun with people who don't care about where they are, beloved institutions have disappeared. I've moved more times in my life than I wish to remember, but finally, in the home I designed myself, I finally feel like I belong. And I love discovering more of who I am within these walls.
My childhood woods and fields and streams are gone now too for housing. My current patch is likely threatened by funding cutbacks. Perhaps it's why my greatest attachment is now to places in the UK, my winter home - nature reserves with little to no chance of being lost: saltmarsh and heathland.
i love this. i am soon moving to vermont and I am excited to be surrounded by pine trees and flowing streams.