Comfort in Nature

I find comfort in nature when I’m heartsore with all that’s wrong in the world.

This is the moment in my ecosphere, when the green veil of leaves obscures the view from my window. Instead of seeing through the bare trees down to the pasture beside the river, I see the nascent leaves hang pale and limp. The process starts like a pointillist painting—so many shades of green emerging, some leaning toward yellow, others toward red, but the overall effect is of green. Green everywhere, from the ground to the canopy that, by this time next week, will cast shade from the sun.

During the months without leaves, I’m able to peer far into the woods, spying stone walls, spring houses, and trash, homes a distance from the road and—sometimes—wildlife on the move. Leaves hide these objects and fauna from view.

On a recent walk along the West River Trail, I heard a bird calling for a mate. I stood still until I spied the black and orange oriel high in an oak just starting to bloom. At ground level, I spied a jack-in-the-pulpit, whose tiny flowers bloom on a spike covered by a striped hood. Where there’s one, there are many, and I saw more than I could count. I also saw banks of bloodroot leaves, a spring ephemeral that blooms so early it knows to wrap its leaves around the white flowers during inevitable cold spells. The blooms were long past, and the deeply lobed leaves as open as a palm, all waving in the gentle breeze. Further on, I easily identified columbine because it was in bloom, and I recognized many other plants by their distinctive leaves, but whose names aren’t yet part of my personal database.

I walked with a friend, and we talked about our lives: a wedding, a grandchild, the work we do in the world. The trail is heavily used, and we each greeted people we knew—and acknowledged those we passed who we didn’t. It was two hours well spent: no screens, no phone, no wars. Just processing the efforts that consume our modest lives—lives I imagine those who are surviving difficult, perilous circumstances, desire.