Over the years, I have wondered why it is that so many of us are drawn to nature. I think of my own experiences of entering a forest, climbing a mountain, wading into the ocean, and the strange sense of presence, of being taken into, of being embraced, that overtakes one. Discreet experiences come to mind: Walking slowly in a forest of balsam fir and deciduous trees in the Laurentian mountains of Quebec; Pausing among a cluster of mesquite and acacia trees in the Sonoran Desert; Walking through a grove of whispering pine overlooking the Indian Ocean in South Africa; Climbing up into a tall Syringa tree in Pretoria; Ambling along a dirt road under a line of Blue Gums in Australia; Climbing the treeless Beenoskee mountain above Ireland’s Lake Annascaul; Joining the Buckeye Trail not far from our Hudson home to stroll among, hickory, maple, beech and pine.

Ours is largely an anthropocentric culture, one that views humankind as separate from and superior to nature; a perspective that views non-human entities such as animals, plants and minerals as resources for us to use. It is a culture marked by the impulse to dominate. And, in our daily lives, we are caught up in a struggle between the urge to dominate and resistance to being dominated. And, somehow, this drive has a dehumanizing effect. That is why perhaps, when we enter the forest, we abandon this destructive dichotomy to find a peaceful harmony at one with nature: A non-verbal awareness.