What I Hunger For

There’s a glossiness to it.  A remembered sensate perception of calm, joy, light and warmth.  It’s a glimpse of well-being I used to equate with a certainty of the existence of God.  Often, I experience it in nature, walking through sun-dappled trees, green in all her varied shades, punctuated with dabs of purple, red, and yellow.  Birds chirping and flying, squirrels and other unseen critters scampering among scattered leaves, birch trees and mighty oaks and gnarly walnuts, their trunks peeling or textured or wrapped in vines.  It would not matter if I walked alone—often, it was my preference—or accompanied by another human presence.  Satisfaction enveloped me, cocooned my body in its goodness. 

Always, this is what I hunger for.  It sustains me, even just the memory of those moments.  And often, it alone is enough, just enough.  More than enough! 

One cannot seek it out or endeavor to manufacture these moments.  But to place myself within the bounty of nature and beauty, the silence of the earth, what I hunger for does not disappoint.  The need will be fed.  A desire for comfort can be found within the depths of a quiet wood, under benevolent skies, with an eager eye and an open heart.

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