I come here to listen, to nestle in the curve of the roots in a soft hollow of pine needles, to lean my bones against the column of white pine, to turn off the voice in my head until I can hear the voices outside it: the shhh of wind in needles, water trickling over rock, nuthatch tapping, chipmunks digging, beechnut falling, mosquito in my ear, and something more—something that is not me, for which we have no language, the wordless being of others in which we are never alone.
Robin Wall-Kimmerer
I find it interesting that squirrels usually make sure there is a tree between them and me. For some reason last week there seemed to be a bit more courage, a willingness to take more risk, for this squirrel. Then again it just could be they’re a photogenic squirrel wanting their photo taken. We didn’t talk but some connection was taking place. Yes, we are never alone. We awoke to a dusting of snow, overcast skies and cold. Now at the coffee shop and no appointments. Stay warm.