“In writing about nature, I am not turning my back on society; I am seeking to place our small, brief lives within the vast encompassing order on which our every breath depends,” wrote one of my favorite authors, Scott Russell Sanders in “The Country of Language.”

I couldn’t agree more. Writing this column bridges the gap between what I encounter while temporarily “turning my back on society,” and provides me a tool with which to share the experiences I’ve had at the altar of the natural world. When I return to the trials of the human world, they are somehow easier to bear. How wonderful is that?

Contemplate the wise words of Rachel Carson, who observed, “The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us, the less taste we shall have for destruction.” 

Have you considered what is possible through devoted engagement with the natural world and its endless expressions of grace, beauty, terror, consequence, intention, survival and more?

Don’t just take my word for it. Delve into the depths to be discovered in “Leaf and Tendril,” a collection of essays by American literary naturalist John Burroughs, born in Roxbury, NY, making him a Catskills native. The collection includes the essay, “The Art of Seeing Things,” in which Burroughs advocates that in order to experience a deeper connection with nature, one must go beyond mere looking and gain true seeing  through the practice of patient and intimate observation.

“To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed  by a morning walk or an evening saunter… to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird’s nest or a wildflower in spring—these are some of the rewards of the simple life,” wrote Burroughs. Good words to live by.