Nature is Right There, Waiting for You to Notice Her... Literally.

When was the last time you sat on the ground with your back against a tree trunk? Sitting in the cool shade, relaxed and fully present, no phone clutched in your hand, no pressing tasks to get done, your mind focused on only one thing.... Soaking in the beauty of nature in an everyday moment.

The smell of freshly mown grass baking in the summer sun, tickling your nostrils. The gentle sound of small insects buzzing in the background, out of sight, but always there. Bird song filling the dappled canopy overhead, flitting about the leaves, or searching for worms with x-ray vision on parched lawn. How do they do that, anyway?

Chances are, it's been a long time... Too long.

Do you even remember the last time you sat under a tree and just watched nature unfold around you? What does that say about modern life? Are you too busy to stop and smell the proverbial roses? Is your day filled to the brim with things to do, and rush-hour traffic; a never-ending list of projects, deadlines, and appointments? Probably.

Many people think that connecting with nature only happens in wilderness -- in a quiet forest at the base of a snow-capped mountain, or a sunny meadow in the rolling countryside. Or perhaps on vacation, sitting on the shore of some pristine lake or stream...

But that simply isn't true.

You don't have to get away from the rat race to reconnect with nature on a daily basis. Because we all know how good it is (mentally, physically, and emotionally) to be in a natural environment, filled with fresh air, green plants, and living organisms.

It's good for us! After all, that's where our ancestors came from -- a rugged wild landscape built of granite and basalt, covered in lichens, moss, fungi, and ferns. They hunted big game on the plains, and harvested roots and berries in the fields and forest. They fished streams and lakes, and sailed the seas, gathering mussels and clams and briny things to smoke over the campfire.

So, why don't we make it a priority to disconnect from the cyber-verse and reconnect with mother earth? Why has Nature become so distant, when we trod upon her back every day?

Walking my dogs through a large urban park on rough gravel paths that crunched underfoot, I felt her presence. And heard her voice in the birdsong, as swallows swooped low over broad manmade meadows, in a regenerative wildlife corridor built on what was once a large garbage dump in a swampy slough.

The sun felt hot on my forehead, despite the nice breeze blowing off the lake nearby. It was a balmy day in July, and I eyed large pools of shade under the trees with childlike nostalgia, longing to sit in their shadows and soak up the beauty of mid-summer. And for the life of me, I couldn't remember the last time I sat with my back against a tree trunk, doing nothing.

When we were children in the Long Ago, we instinctively knew that trees were living breathing beings -- providing shelter from the sun and the rain, their leaves helping us breathe, their branches a hive of activity to be climbed and explored; a safe haven from the pesky presence of adults.

Canopies were a place where birds lived and built their nests. A sacred space where owls perched, and squirrels scurried about with treasure, where ants climbed with supernatural intent, carrying gargantuan crumbs twice their size with amazing ease. How do they do that? It was an elevated place where bumblebees vibrated amongst blossoms and buds, and apples lured us to climb higher than we knew we should.

When we were children, we played outside in our yards, in parks, gardens, and neighborhood streets, in back alleys and empty lots -- there we delighted in everyday encounters with nature. We marveled at fuzzy caterpillars and alien grasshoppers, we cursed the nettles that stung our legs, and dug for earthworms with abandon. We made mud pies, chased after butterflies, and rubbed dandelions on our chins. Silly things that made no sense, but felt good.

What happened? How did we, as responsible adults, lose touch with nature?

Sure, we can summon her up on a screen, in our feed, on the news, with one click of a button. But we aren't in her. Touching her, and feeling her touch, in the smells, sounds, and beautiful sights that surround us every day.

With the weight of life weighing us down, we forget that nature abounds in every environment, from urban streets and vacant lots, to suburban oases, and wild spaces. Nature breathes, just as we do -- in weeds, insects, puddles, and microbiomes in the soil.

She occupies the space in between tree branches, and in the musty shadows of the tool shed. She lives in spider webs, and strange cocoons that appear in our backyard trees -- what pests are these? Even in the mold that sometimes grows on windowsills, and tiny mites that infest our houseplants. We actively prune her presence out of our homes, and our lives, without even realizing it. Often cursing her.

Nature is under our feet, and wafting into our nostrils on microscopic pollen grains. She's present in every moment of our lives, if we stop to notice her. And pay attention. If we take the time to appreciate all her wondrous forms.

To connect with the earth that sustains us is something we should strive to do every single day. It's all about perspective and being present. Truly present in the moment.

Nature is in the concrete sidewalks and streets we walk upon, as silica and sand. She is in the asphalt that paves that our roads, made of tar and rocks, like the murderous pits at La Brea... She is in the potted plant we set on our desktops - or the vegetables we store in our refrigerator drawers.

If you sit under a tree long enough, in a sea of grass, mown or not, at the park, on the lakeshore, or in your own garden, you will begin to notice her...

She is there, in the birds flying overhead, hunting insects and creepy crawly things. In the silent wings of bats that zip across the dusky sky at twilight. You can feel her in the humidity that clings to your skin, or the gentle breeze that tussles your hair and cools your cheeks.

You can hear Nature in the buzzing bees, stalking the clover that scents the air with sweet perfume. And the swishing of long grass, bending in the wind. Gentle sounds that soothe your wary senses, and bathe your body with her restorative lull -- like the tug of tides on the shore, and the cool resinous tingle of a pine forest that fills the air with its omniscience.

You don't need to leave the city, or quit your day job to get your daily dose of nature.

You just have to disconnect from the ether, at least once a day. Even if it's only for fifteen minutes. Take your lunch and go outside. Find a bench in the sun, or the shade, and watch for her still presence to reveal itself amongst the harried hustlers pulsing all around you.

You will see her in the ants marching along invisible scent paths. Or in crows and pigeons, strutting across the sidewalk, scavenging for crumbs. Nature is in the poorly pruned trees that line our dirty streets, their roots buckling the concrete blocks that bind their feet like shackles, their branches stretching towards the light -- adapting to stress and disease and toxins, and doing what they are called to do. Grow. Expand. Heal their wounds, then grow some more the best they can where they are planted.

As humans, we have become disconnected from Nature in modern life, with disastrous effects. We have forgotten our ancient calling -- not to survive, but to thrive, as one with nature. As part of her.

We eat her fruits, and till her soil, and breathe her air, tending the animals that graze her fields, and drink the water that comes from her glaciers. Yet we also drive the cars that poison her atmosphere and build factories that fill the sky with toxic smoke and soot -- our air, that we must breathe. It is suicidal.

We dump toxins into her waters, and mine her depths for precious metals and oil reserves. And we kill the very animals we say we love -- the whales we strike with our ships trafficking exports, the birds we poison with weed killers, the habitats we destroy to build more homes and warehouses, stocked to the rafters with "stuff".

And yet... she persists. In the small corners of our lives, if only we will notice her. At the park, or in expansive lawns that blanket our suburban enclaves, with dense thatch, where pesky gnats, mosquitos, and moths congregate. Those tasty treats that bats and owls like to eat. Or in a soft mound of silt that ants build, before we call the exterminator.

When we connect with Nature, and listen intently, we can hear her small still voice in the tiny creatures that crawl upon her. On the wind. In the sound of rustling leaves in the fall, or the smell of hot sun on a patch of dry earth. In the gentle lapping of waves against a shore, any shore, hard or soft... In a good pelting rain that lashes our roofs and windows, and windshields, as we drive to the next appointment -- always late and pressed for time.

She is there, in the quiet dew of early morning.

If we reignite our appreciation of Nature in all her subtle forms, we give her space to thrive in our day-to-day lives. And we make room for biodiversity in every decision we make at the store, in the kitchen, our commute, the media we consume, and in our careers.

Nature is right there, waiting for you to re-discover the wonder that is planet earth. Go be with her.