by | Mar 14, 2018 | Ground Work | 6 comments

I need it. To feel small, even insignificant, in the face of nature’s works nourishes me. I seek that nourishment daily.

CottonwoodsFrom my home at the base of the Sandia Mountains to the beautiful old Mabel Dodge Luhan House at the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in Taos, I drove for miles alongside the Rio Grande as the road climbed from Española into the gorge of the river that flows from a source high in Colorado’s Southern Rockies to its mouth in the Gulf of Mexico. It rippled over basalt boulders that had tumbled into its bed from the steep slopes above. Winter bare cottonwoods revealed their convoluted forms, another of nature’s graceful sculptures. Light glinted off the faces of boulders burnished with desert varnish. I imagined the music of the river, a constant murmur, overshadowed that day by the whoosh of the wind, whose gusts the soaring crows danced upon, riding waves of air. I could drive this stretch of road every day, and still it would inspire my awe.

That awe, the wonder of nature – from the minute gleam of an obsidian ‘Apache tear’ glimpsed on a trail to the mighty basalt cliffs that tower over the narrowest reaches of the Rio Grande Gorge – provides perspective that helps me handle the shock and awe (of a much different sort) that assails on a daily basis, reading the news of humans seemingly endless supply of inhumanity.

Seed PodsNearly every day (yes, sometimes I forget), I walk in gratitude to live in places were nature is so reachable. I can touch the paper thin wisp of a seed pod. I can hear it rattle in the breeze. I can watch a lizard no bigger than my pinky finger scurry into the protective spines of a prickly pear’s paddles. I hear the coyotes’ howls echoing through arroyos, their pups’ yips and yaps new voices in nature’s song. But even in the city, there is birdsong, the rustle of bare trees’ branches in the wind, and the occasional passing of a coyote. Wherever I am, I can find it – awe – if I remember to look, to listen.

Handful of snowThe next morning, I woke to the hush that blankets the landscape with even a dusting of snow. Always a blessing in the desert, this winter any moisture is a particular gift given the parched season we’ve had. I scooped up a handful, and as I lifted it to contemplate the intricacies of the delicate flakes, the sun peeked through a cloud break and shone over my shoulder. Nature’s wonder sparkled there, right in the palm of my hand.

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  1. Meira

    Hi Deb! I always love reading your posts, but particularly this one since I’m an enthusiastic fan of nature. Your detailed descriptions have me feeling like I’m right there with you…though sitting in not-nearly-as-glorious Baltimore City. Wishing you all the best and a delightful Passover, Meira (Uncle Allan’s granddaughter)

    • Deborah Green

      Thanks for writing, Meira. I know, it’s harder to find it in the city, and I suppose that’s why I found my way to the mountains to roost. But there’s birdsong and spring green shoots of daffodils and crocus, and in your part of the world, cherry blossoms. Though I’m savoring the last cold mornings of winter, happy spring and a good Passover to you too. Deb

  2. Sharon Galkin

    Awe-inspiringly written, Deb. Thank you for sharing your beautiful backyard with us all.

  3. G. Stirewalt

    Deb … Your words have clearly captured the “secret” of truly experiencing feelings of awe: Remembering … and taking the time … to Look and Listen. Yes – and drinking in everything Mother Earth and Father Sky offer from the scale of a sand grain to a mountain top, as you clearly do. I love so much all you share in your well-crafted verbal descriptions … and truthfully they leave me in constant awe of your creativity. What a gift you give to me and others. Blessings on You for sharing that gift!


  4. Garry Maurath

    Well done!

  5. Jenn Bauer

    Love it! I particularly connected with the silence the snow brings. That’s my favorite part of snow days. It’s a nice change of pace when the world is quiet every now and then.

    I feel a similar awe and gratitude when I’ve made it to the top of whatever mountain bike trail I am riding, and get the reward of an amazing view. Thanks for sharing!


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Geologists study the earth and the processes that shape it. Writers study the human heart and the processes that shape it. The GeologistWriter builds a bridge between the two. Come across it with me!

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