The outer world becomes a metaphor for our own, unknown, inner landscape. Sometimes the bare tree in the drab, gray morning rain speaks to my sadness in a way I hadn’t yet found words for. Or my eye will catch a bird in its branches, flying back and forth, mirroring how my own brain travels back and forth, back and forth. In this way, we can look out at the natural world as if it were a sacred text, “rereading” the view from one window again and again to find new connections, new meaning.
