Ranch party nature writing

The pet cemetery
The pet cemetery has a different feeling for me than any other place I have been in out in the country. I would have thought that a cemetery would give me a sad and slightly creepy feeling, like human ones do when I drive past them in the city, but this one just gives me a peaceful, accepting feeling. There is a superstition that says if you don't hold your breath when driving past a cemetery, you will lose a year of your life. I think this shows just how afraid of death we are, even though it is a natural part of life. The animals here seem at peace in their natural surroundings, and I do not fear this place and the feeling of death that should loom over it, because out in this Nature and without all the pomp and ceremony, death does not seem like such a bad and fearful thing. I get the feeling that these animals were at one with Nature when they were living, and they have become one with Nature now in death. There are flowers growing beautifully and serenely among the gravesites, almost as if in celebration of the life that once was. I understand the tradition of bringing flowers to lay on a loved one's grave now, but I feel it would be more appropriate if we planted flowers, rather than bringing ones that have already been picked, that will soon wither and die. We make death such a formal, sterile, cold thing most of the time. Through our fear of it, we're really just giving it more power. I feel like this place would give me that message if it could talk with me. The flowers on the grave, or the trees silently guarding, would tell me that Death need not be feared, that it is all part of the natural order and cycle of things. They would say "do not fear coming back to the dust from which you came. When you come to your final resting place, you are merely coming home to the bosom of Nature and her Creator. Do not fear this rest." And really we are just joining the countless other people, animals, plants, and organisms that have gone back into the earth before us. The ground of htis cemetery, and any cemetery, is steeped with the lives of the past. The ground has soaked up the history of all those creatures who have gone back to it in death -- and we know we do not need to fear that because springing up out of the death-filed ground is life! Lots and lots of life. Every culture recognizes this idea of life being born form death, but very few cultures seem to really take those words to heart. But now I will not hold my breath past a graveyard, because there is nothing to fear. As I am at peace in this cemetary, so I will try to find peace in others.

In a glade
I am sitting inside a ring of trees, where I feel partly hidden form the outside world, and yet open to and within it all at the same time. The sound of the wind in the trees and the leaves falling one by one relaxes me, yet I do not feel completely at home here in Nature. For one thing, the tree I am leaning against is not very ocmfortable, but rather bumpy and rough against my back. My legs are starting to fall asleep because I can't seem to find a comfortable position to sit in, and the idea that I am sharing this small area with thousands of bugs certainly does not placate me. I am not sure why I never feel completely at home in Nature, but I have some speculations as to how. It started with these small uncomfortable annoyances. Men decided to change things -- mold things -- a bit, like smooth out the wood to form a more ocmfortable chair, and put the trees together to form a more stable shelter. It just kept going from there -- bigger, better, faster, stronger -- we wanted things more and more comfortable and convenient. It's escalated to the point where we have to go out of our ways most of the time in order to find some nature, and with the loss of familiarity came the loss of the feeling of belonging. Man no longer seems to belong in Nature. If I could see myself sitting here in the dirt and grass, I would look so out of place, I'm sure, what with my dyed clothes, bag of metal gadgets and make-up. I'm not even doing natural activities -- I'm writing with man-made materials; the rest of the animal world is busy searching for food, or playing in the grass, or cooling off in the shade -- they are content to just sit and be, or do what it takes to survive. We cannot just sit anymore. We always have to be busy with something. I don't know why we do this. We keep so busy, we don't have time to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. We no longer have a great appreciation for nature and for the peace of just being. We create so much stress for ourselves by being busy and by trying to make things ever more convenient. Who decided it was a crime for things to take a long time, anyway? These trees took years, decades even, to grow. But now they are strong and beautiful. They are a testament to time, and patience -- Good things come with patience. I hope I can learn patience, and learn how to be more at home and comfortable in Nature.