An excellent nature essay by Marguerite Wiser

The tangy smell of tomato plants drifts on the warm breeze. I bury my toes in cool dark earth as I watch honey bees move from one blossom to the next, humming to themselves as they work. It is here I find myself, a sliver of solitude in this small corner of the world so teeming with life. Thin green stems curve and stoop under the weight of their burden. As my nose fills with their earthy scents, I relax. Here, time is nothing more than light and dark, the movement of the sun, and the sway of the trees. My head clears, my thoughts become my own. My wilderness is here. Not in the garden’s seemingly endless rows or in the cloudless skies, or even in the earth itself, rather in me. I find myself more connected here than any other time or place before. I am as a part of this eternal motion as the ripe red fruits that sway in the warm air. This place is wild, free, and utterly connected to everything that is, ever was, and will ever be. It seems strange to me now, to think that everything was once as wild as this little corner of earth. When I think of it, wild the earth still remains buried beneath and lying dormant under a blanket of asphalt and buildings. I may be alone in the garden, but I carry with me the ideas, experiences, and memories of all that I have encountered. Inhaling the sweet scent of tomato plants allows me to forget the stench of smog. The dark soil on my toes allows me to forget the feel of hot asphalt. Listening to the buzz of the honey bees and the chirping of the birds allows me to forget the clamor of the cars. This moment in the garden allows me to forget moments before and endure moments afterwards, moments when the blue of the sky is insulted by the criss-cross of telephone wires and when the sway of the trees is replaced with the stillness of steel buildings. When I find myself surrounded by walls, I remember this moment in the garden, and a feeling of calm sweeps over me, just as the wind brushes the leaves of the tomato plants.