When I was younger, I abided by places, because
of the good friends they were.
They were there, through season and storm.
As an adolescent, I began to notice their many faces, at different times of the day, of the year, throughout changing seasons. and our own perceptual capacities.
In my twenties, still I always made friends with new spots wherever I moved, and I moved often.
With all my walks and the forests and places along the sea- upon mesas, along the broad near-empty Rio Grande. The Angel's Circle in Mexico City, or along a cold island in Canada, come spring. Each of them with an appearance that came to greet you anew each time you went to say hello.
When I had children , always we were out and about, and I was uncertain as to whether their well-being depended so much upon tiring their bodies and breathing deeply the cool or hot fresh air as we rambled through brush and discovered woodland waterfalls and glades and the secret thickets of wildlife ...
Or if it was simply that , in fact, all children needed the exertion out of doors, and growing friendships with places that mean something to them .
A source of solace when we encounter good days or bad.
But what always touched me so was the many faces of each place, that initially seemed so disparate , until you got to know them .
And then the whole universe was there, laid out before you. In a mustard seed, in the grain of sand, or each different place in your neighborhood . Truly revealing itself .
This area of the riverbank is by my old office, a place I visited more times than I can count.
Whether in summer on weekends, to stop in and clean my office and prepare herb orders for the coming week.
Or in winter after clients , in late darkening afternoon, when, happy and exhausted , I'd climb through the thigh high snowdrifts with my nicely heeled dress boots on.
I'd hang on to the rickety rail, and carefully feel myself lured down closer to the banks that rose high above the cracking frozen river far below, just to pause. to say hello.
They were there, through season and storm.
As an adolescent, I began to notice their many faces, at different times of the day, of the year, throughout changing seasons. and our own perceptual capacities.
In my twenties, still I always made friends with new spots wherever I moved, and I moved often.
With all my walks and the forests and places along the sea- upon mesas, along the broad near-empty Rio Grande. The Angel's Circle in Mexico City, or along a cold island in Canada, come spring. Each of them with an appearance that came to greet you anew each time you went to say hello.
When I had children , always we were out and about, and I was uncertain as to whether their well-being depended so much upon tiring their bodies and breathing deeply the cool or hot fresh air as we rambled through brush and discovered woodland waterfalls and glades and the secret thickets of wildlife ...
Or if it was simply that , in fact, all children needed the exertion out of doors, and growing friendships with places that mean something to them .
A source of solace when we encounter good days or bad.
But what always touched me so was the many faces of each place, that initially seemed so disparate , until you got to know them .
And then the whole universe was there, laid out before you. In a mustard seed, in the grain of sand, or each different place in your neighborhood . Truly revealing itself .
This area of the riverbank is by my old office, a place I visited more times than I can count.
Whether in summer on weekends, to stop in and clean my office and prepare herb orders for the coming week.
Or in winter after clients , in late darkening afternoon, when, happy and exhausted , I'd climb through the thigh high snowdrifts with my nicely heeled dress boots on.
I'd hang on to the rickety rail, and carefully feel myself lured down closer to the banks that rose high above the cracking frozen river far below, just to pause. to say hello.
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