Walk among trees who do not judge you, who travel seasons in perfect meekness.
Leave the drumbeat of blocks and apartments, hours and trains, lines and squares, and return to the rhythm of living things.
Observe beings who live the life they are given.
Go at a pace you won't trip over roots while looking up.
Listen to the conversation the sun has with the grasses, watch its slow labour among the trees.
Let your life become as purposeful as any wild thing.
Stay long enough to shed the illusion that you are superior, that you are separate, that this is not also your flesh.
Let your breath, prairie wind, sea breeze, —amazing gift, moment after moment!— carry you through the day.
Your own organs, your hands, your eyes, let them infest this day of work.
Earthling, be of this earth. Let it have you.
-Steve Garnaas Holmes