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We Are Here Together

And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other 

without ever seeing each other, and never perhaps to see each 

other, is every bit as wonderful Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass 

 

As Walt Whitman and I converse across time through literature, you and I converse across seasons through this shared landscape. Though we do not sit here together (or perhaps we do), if you sit on this bench across from the pond, admiring the marsh blue violet, so too, do I. Though I sit here in the bluster of winter, breath dancing through the air, snow dusting what will soon be bursting with color, if you admire the dogwood flowers and feel the thrum of their life in your heart, so too, do I. If you feel the peace of Sunday morning, watching squirrels tussle in the grass, so too, do I. This is what community garden means to me. Though I sit here in the season without flowers, the tranquility of the garden is not lost. The peace, the serenity, and the sense of community spread throughout the soil, remains. It exists in the quiet. The peace of body. The expanse of mind. The activation of senses. 

Through the warm hood of my winter coat, I hear snowflakes falling, landing on my arms, on the bench, and in the water. I feel the wind traversing my exposed skin. I smell fresh winter, taste the bitter cold on my tongue. I come to the gardens embodied, listening as much as I look, feeling as much as I hear, tasting as much as I smell. Perhaps you sit here in the fall, hearing the leaves rustle, smelling the crispness in the air. Perhaps you feel the expanse of spring, the great blossoming taking root inside your chest. Perhaps you come in summer when the vegetables grow, the sun shines, and the days are ever long. 

Whoever you are, wherever in the garden you choose to be, whenever you may arrive, we sit here, together, in conversation, in contemplation, and in enjoyment. We converse, in this beautiful place, at this perfect hour, in these gardens overlooking the river. We share admiration for this wonderful world. The tulips, the squirrels, the crows and the tomatoes. The leaves, the sticks, the snow, and the soil. Our sense of wonder is enriched by this space. Whether the sun shines down or the clouds hang heavy in the sky, whether the ground beneath your feet is frozen or supple, whether the goldfinch sings or the squirrel chatters, we are here together, in community, sharing an appreciation for the beauty that surrounds us. 

about the author

Julia Rudlaff

Julia Rudlaff is from Kalamazoo, Michigan and is a current undergraduate student at Michigan State University studying geology and creative writing. They love rock hunting, camping, hiking, and exploring the outdoors in every way possible. Julia is interested in pursuing a career in outdoor work, focusing on conservation and geological education, while continuing to write poetry and creative nonfiction. Their work has been showcased in the CREATE! Micro-Grant online exhibit and has been published in Keeping it Under Wraps: Bodies Uncensored, Red Cedar Review, and Wilder Things Magazine, and is forthcoming in Deep Wild Journal and The Foundationalist. Julia can be reached at rudlaff1@msu.edu.