I look down at the palm of my hand. A mesh of veins running in and through flesh; a formulation of pink, blue and beige. I open and close my fingers, each intricately structured by tendon and bone. And I can’t help but wonder how something so complex is held together by something so delicate as paper-thin skin.

I look beyond, to the earth all around. To the mountains, the ocean, the clouds, rivers and valleys. I peer deep into the forest, observing the trees reaching out to the sky, as if for guidance, the vibrant moss blanketing the forest floor like carpet, the squishy, lush soil harboring webs upon webs of interconnected mycelial networks.

That out there– that’s us. We are not here and nature there; we precisely are the phenomenon we call nature; we are the very earth that we stand upon.

I look back down at my hand, this fleshy, veiny thing. calloused and rigid, yet tender and gentle. I see in it the earth and all it encompasses.

And when you’re met with such a sweet synchronicity, how could you not be overcome with pure awe?