Home Is Not a Destination

Nature is not a place to visit. It is home.

The bay does not wait for your arrival. It breathes whether you notice or not. Home, Snyder suggests, is not something entered from outside; it is the ground you already stand on. This morning, the distinction matters. You are not traveling to nature to find yourself. You are recognizing what was never separate. The smallest act, then, becomes return: noticing the particular cold of this April air on your skin, the specific angle of light where you are, the exact sound of where you live. This is attention as homecoming.