Oh, you, nature child, running free upon the earth, peering at frogs and snakes and puppy dog tails and wildflowers…I speak to you.
Oh, you, grown-up person, all facts & figures, all planning & obligations, all trying to figure out how to live…remember the earth where you once sank in delight in thick oozing mud, where you once scrambled up and down hillock, where you once forgot everything except the joy of the changing moment.
Oh, you, nature child.
Before we started categorizing and judging and blaming, did we not run amok along hedgerows? Did we not glimpse mice and squirrels and chipmunks?
Isn’t it still a special moment when we simply drop our daily concerns and enter into nature’s wildness, her unexpected not-knowing?
Yesterday, I picked thimbleberries around the house. Not yet plentiful, one must search for deep rich redness. So tart and sweet simultaneously. This morning I ate them on brown rice drizzled with maple syrup and, yes, some walnuts and chia seeds, as well.
I surprised a fawn napping behind the shed and he bolted in dazed long-legged spotted frenzy toward the ravine. I do not suppose fawns like thimbleberries; however, one never knows.
Yesterday evening we drove to the Baraga State Park and watched a raptor rehabilitator showing a fierce red-tail hawk, an ever fiercer Great Horned Owl, and a beloved barred owl with whom I fell immediately in love. Both owls stared at me.
Owl blood runs in my veins, as some of you know. Owls can transform what is perceived negative into a gift. Just ask them some deep dark night when your nature child can’t sleep.
After the presentation, I walked up our country road. A bit farther up, farther than one can clearly identify, a creature stopped in her tracks and stared at the human down the road. Was she fox or coyote? She bounded off into high grasses and back into the woods.
I caught up with her scent but did not find her. Nature’s creatures are like that–so elusive. Except when they’re not.
People imagine what it is like to live in the woods.
Here’s my answer: It can be just like living anywhere.
However, if you allow the mind to slow down, if you can stop the inner dialogue, you’re in the Garden of Eden with a snake that might cajole or ignore or bite your third eye. It’s that enchanting; that dangerous; that intriguing.
But only if you move beneath everyday concerns. Only if you stop and reconnect with your inner nature child, that which dances, that which intimately connects with whatever arises next.
Is part of you still a nature child? Does part of you still run wild with the wolves and bear and deep-underwater lake trout?