Dear friends,
From our home to the valley, it’s about nine miles along the river until we get to a cross road where we finally get cell service. We’ve named this stretch, and any service-less zone like it, a Corridor of Wonder. All one can do when questions arise between passengers is wonder, discuss, and try to figure things out based on what the collective has read, watched, or been told.
There is time to ponder, guess and say, I don’t know. The rush to blurt out answers, so inherent to our modern personalities, is a stranger here. In the inexactness of our knowledge, there is acceptance that we don’t have the information right now and we might forget to seek it out later because something else has taken precedence or we’ve simply forgotten. The river teaches us to stay in the flow.
At some point, we silently agree to set queries aside for more important things like sighting the herd of elk in a grove of red alders, catching a glimpse of the lone Texas longhorn standing in the meadow, or spotting the pair of eagles who patiently watch for fish while perched on a bough over the rushing river.
This time of year, the land is saturated and water is on the move headed out to the bay and then the ocean. Waterfalls, creeks, and rivulets dash to the river in what can feel like a stampede of energy. During the cold snap, many of these waterways froze up into crystal-like ice sculptures!
There is also time to imagine all that we can’t see like beaver, nutria, black bear, cougar, and of course, my favorite, Sasquatch.
The Corridor of Wonder is a liminal space of awe. In these corridors we strengthen our skills of conversation, listening, observation, and imagination. It never gets old. The space is constantly changing in color, texture, light, and movement. And we are different with each journey.
Where are your Corridors of Wonder? If steep mountains, long stretches of desert, or vast expanses of ocean haven’t created one for you then why not create your own? Turn off your phone for the same stretch of travel everyday and be open to what happens. I bet you’ll discover something wonderful and awe inspiring about where you live. From Newsletter
It sounds enchanting. Like Laura, I too am wandering and wondering in an urban environment. Saw a fox on Christmas Eve after turning off David Byrne’s holiday playlist that I used to carol as one. I had a close encounter with hawk in my front yard in the fall. They came right up on my porch, no more than 2 feet from me. We talked but I cheated, again with the cell phone. I had to commit it to video, lest I forget how I was blessed, such was my awe & wonder. Can I post a video on these comments? Using these devices of interconnectedness, when thought travels faster than the speed of light ;)
My Corridor of Wonder is a four-lane boulevard I travel several times a week in my suburban community. The median strip is planted with Jacaranda mimosifolia, a small tree native to South America that explodes with violet blooms in May and June. One day as I drove along that stretch of road, I saw the graceful trees as a row of ballerinas performing arabesques and pirouettes as they tossed armsful of blossoms and lacy green leaves into the air. Now in winter, I can still see them, legs and arms bare, waiting en pointe for spring.