In the summer, it’s warm enough at the cabin to sit outside and meditate in the morning. I sit in the back yard, my back to the shed, and watch life unfold from all around me. My feet planted solidly on the bare ground, I become just another tree, part of this quivering, breathing mass of life: from the small bits of vegetation on the ground to the white-barked aspens surrounding me and the tall pine trees that cause me to lift my eyes to the heavens.
Breathing in and out softly, I hold still enough that the small forest animals get close; unless I move, they are hardly aware of my existence. As the young rabbit gets within a foot, so close I want to lean over and pet its soft fur, I watch it pull shoots from the ground, with the grass disappearing into its mouth. Chipmunks run over my shoes, while a woodrat nervously pops out from the shed and grabs a piece of grass, close enough for me to see its long gray tail, its knobby dark eyes and large ears. A hummingbirds buzzes me, staring me in the face, before it decides I’m not a flower. On the ground a family of juncos peck through the dirt, looking for some choice morsel—a bug?—to feed their young one.
A gray squirrel jumps on the picnic table in front of me, eyeing me with curiosity, while another squirrel emerges from underneath the cabin bearing wads of pink cotton—insulation, I realize, that it’s carrying to its nest in my neighbor’s shed. Already, the chickaree is preparing for its winter home.
Last week, I was at the family cabin in Wisconsin. My sister and I kayaked to one of the few undeveloped spots on the lake, where I swam along the shoreline of birch and pine trees. Afterward my sister and I stood knee deep in the water, wrapped in our beach towels, enjoying the feel of soft sand beneath our feet and the breezes that ruffled the lake’s surface. As we stood there, a bald eagle that roosts on top of the hill behind us swooped down to the lake, alarming a pair of loons that screamed a warning and then dived into the lake.
Meanwhile, taking a cruise around the lake on the pontoon boat, my sister’s husband came by on his second loop. Seeing us still standing in the same place, he yelled, “Are you two stuck in the sand—or what?”
Yes, we were stuck, maybe even awestruck. While we stood still, the world revolved around us—the lake, the birds, the sky, the clouds. Sometimes the only thing to do is stand still and keep quiet.