We should know how the clouds change from winter to spring. We should know how ice crystals in the air look on a really cold morning. We should know how the hill that we see every day looks different with snow on it. How it looks different with the first tinge of green in the spring. We should know how the light in the evening peeks between the clouds. We all have had a sense of place at some time. We have memories from our childhood: sunny days under trees, winter days enveloped in snow, early morning light through the curtains. I think we loose some of that sense as we grow older. We get adult-busy.

I think that we need to hold on to that first wonder. Let it grab us. Find a place, a view that is special to us. We hear of people roping themselves to a hundred-year-old cottonwood tree to keep it from being cut down. That tree was in their memory for years. It is special. It is part of them.

When I was sixteen, I used to drive up and over Loveland pass just to get the view in the winter. Feel the cold breeze, see those wonderful peaks. Ah, what a place.

For me a sense of place is very personal. It is my friend. It is a spiritual connection. It becomes part of my story. I think as we honor that sense we connect more with the landscape--our landscape. We also connect with a part of us—that part of us that came from the same visceral soup long ago.

I hike several times a week near Boulder. I start at the trailhead with parked cars, people chatting, dogs bounding. As I progress up the trail, I look back and get views. I see how the sky out to the east looks. One day, I came across a deer. Then another came into view. We all watched each other. An unknown peace set in. It was after a snowfall and we were all alone. It created something that I never could have conjured up. It just happened.

Every day that I walk, different things happen. Even on the same trail, from day to day something will be different. I get a sense of the place. It becomes my friend. I look for the little bits of green that poke up and try to guess what they are. I wait for more information and then see more of their essence. We get to know each other.

There is a place on one of my routes that is special to me. I hike up about a mile, cross several main trails, and take a trail not well used. I come to an opening. The trees spread out; a few large boulders are scattered around. Here I get a feeling of my place in the world. My sense of place. I often see deer, get a good view, think about what a great tent site it would be; more times than not a crow will fly over and greet me with a stark multi-syllable cry. He’s probably telling me to keep on moving. This is his special meadow.

Mine Too.