As a child, I would wander the woods for hours, stopping to look closely at the littlest things. I created spaces high up in trees to take refuge in. At my family’s yearly camp site, I once spent days, collecting moss and lining the spaces between the roots of a huge tree that created a natural shelf. I would nap there in my moss bed by the stream, held by nature. It is in nature that I felt a safety that I could not find anywhere else.
There is something about the quiet wonder of nature. The hidden cocoons, eggs, nests, burrows… that hidden growth and transformation, the fragile strength of this constant cycle of birth and decay. How something can build a protective shell around itself in order to enter its most fragile and vulnerable state and emerge absolutely transformed. How a snake, in its shedding, embraces blindness in order to further grow. I understand that. I feel that deep within my bones. That need to fully embrace the not knowing, and the vulnerability that comes with it.