Hard as it may be to justify, what was once a luxury is something I can no longer afford to lose.  The extravagance of spending time in wild places is becoming the necessity it has always been.    

Twice a week I teach yoga classes at a corporate campus situated on grounds that preserve the habitat of a South Florida barrier island—beach dunes, coastal strands, and cypress swamps.  The walk from the parking garage to the building is a hike on a winding gravel path through saw palmetto, live oaks, and dodder vines. 

For years I have hurried to get inside and then hurried to get home or to my next class or the bank or the grocery or wherever I thought was more important than where I was. 

Only recently, after telling myself that I needed to plan more weekend trips to local parks and the beach, did I realize that I spend time in a nature preserve twice a week on my walk to work. 

Only recently did I allow myself time in the middle of the week, in the middle of a work day to just stop, to give up trying to control when was an appropriate time to enjoy a place where the trees, plants, animals, and vines are going about their business of living despite the intrusion of humans.

I went even further, stepped off the gravel path, sat down next to the shallow water of the swamp.  From there I couldn’t see the upper stories of the buildings nearby.  It was just me and the water and the habitat. 

Much more than I ever could have imagined greeted me there.

A previously hidden universe literally sailed in on white wings.  The soft “thuft” of feathers was audible as an ibis landed and began poking its beak in the loam.

The high noon sun radiated across the water.  I relaxed onto the damp grass and soon saw that I was in the company of more than a bird.  Tiny fish were darting and treading. Spotted dragon flies skated by.  A leaf fell from a tree.

More time, more attention revealed turquoise sequins on the tails of the fish.  Why hadn’t I seen them before?  And there were larger fish, too, sporting muted turquoise stripes.  Where was I just a few seconds ago that I didn’t see them? 

Out of nowhere a turtle as large as my torso angled through the water.  Something prehistoric stirred in me.  The age of myth was palpable. I wanted to tell her story, as if she were the mossback that brought the first land up from the deeps. She puts me in my place. In the epochs of time on Earth, my time is fleeting, yet frighteningly impactful.

All the peace I’ll ever need existed in the ten or fifteen minutes that I stopped, watched, and waited.   I didn’t have to go looking for nature.  I needed to let it find me.  I needed to give reverence time to catch up to the commotion of an average human day. 

There is enough time to love the world.  There has to be.   My soul tells me I have no choice.

-Radiance Writer

August 3, 2022