As I emerge into the open, a heron slips into view, a thin needle between folds of heavy cloth. Its spindly legs are longer than its body and form a horizon line between the earth and sky. I turn to watch as it melts into the dusky distance. The sky is a heavy grey, nearly the same color as the water. Prairie grasses in golden hues ring the quarry pond before me. Normally by now the grasses have one foot in the grave, with nothing but thin ashy arms to wave in the wind. Today, the wet drizzle has revived them, and they glow against the metallic sky.

Awe is a positive emotion triggered by awareness of something vastly larger than the self and not immediately understandable — such as nature, art, music, or being caught up in a collective act such as a ceremony, concert or political march.

Dacher Keltner UC San Francisco

My senior year of high school, I couldn’t wait for Fridays. It wasn’t weekend parties or even going out with friends that excited me. I was wild with the joy of learning about the plants and animals of my native New York. I was so excited I could hardly sleep. A woman my mother’s age who went back to school in pursuit of an urban planning degree invited me to go with her to a natural history class at the University of Buffalo. She was fascinated by bioregionalism and, based on the walks our families took in the summer exploring nearby creeks, thought I would enjoy it. The class fueled my curiosity and love of plants and animals and their various habitats.

To stay balanced, I need time in nature, even if it is altered and recovering water and land. I need to hear the sounds of water and wind and birds, to look at plants up close, to observe animals. I give thanks to MW for taking me under wing. I give thanks to the goldenrod and to the stealthy heron for sustaining my wonder and awe.