Granted, she doesn't look like much- just an old muddied creek that winds behind my townhome development. But I've claimed her just the same. Legally, the city owns her, but I doubt they'll ever know I've planted an old adirondack chair on her north bank to observe her as she goes along her way.

I've spent hours there, just sitting and writing and resting. It's wonderful. Once, when the creek flooded and carried the chair into the stream, I found it beached against a sand bar a few yards downstream. So, left with no choice, I rolled up my pants and waded into the chilly autumn waters.

My poor ability to describe fails me when I tell you how I felt when my legs sank knee-deep into the all too willing mud. The gasp that escaped my lips, the tingling of incessant fear, the chill down the spine- all of it was profoundly human. In that moment, at that place in time, I was closer to who I was than I have been in a long time.

Nature is where I find myself, where I am able to return to that childlike state that time so cruelly steals away in such a deft manner that one scarcely realizes it's gone until it's too late. I believe that somewhere between the winter branches a part of me lingers, and if I look hard enough, I'll be rewarded with a piece. It doesn't happen every time I make the sojourn, but more often than not, I'm struck by the grandeur of nature.

There are probably those of you who read this blog who haven't set foot in the woods in years- I urge you, go. Just stand and stare and be in awe. Listen and be still long enough for the woods to come alive around you. We live our whole lives with the false notion that mankind is the greatest thing on the planet. To risk sounding trite, we are but a thread in the tapestry. To gain such perspective makes the troubles and petty trifles of the day fade into the background.

I like to think that if we all lived in treehouses, we'd be a hell of a lot happier.

I know I would.