Come To The Woods, John Muir
For me, summer means mountains…and all that comes with them: the smell of hot, pine-needled soil of the south facing slopes, the vibrant wildflowers, white clouds tumbling over themselves against the bright blue sky, the sound—sometimes the roar—of cascading snow melt, the cool air that wraps everything in its bracing rush. It’s not just mountains; for others, the sea has this same affect. Time in nature is restorative, realigning, reminiscent of simplicity. The world is full of small mountains, small seas. To walk through a city or a city park, or even a city street, is to witness the whole of the earth calling forth life. Find the woods—literal or metaphorical—nearest you. Let the squirrel come sit upon your knee amidst the beauty of it all.
Todd Breyfogle, Denver, Colorado