My campsite overlooked a small body of water, bigger than a pond, not exactly a lake. This water became a source of great joy and insight. The sun and moon both rose over her. My first morning there, I was excited and woke before 5 am. It was 46 degrees and dark. There is little light pollution in northern Michigan and the stars burned bright against an inky sky. The little beach was the perfect place to observe the stars unobstructed by trees.

A couple of hours later, I returned to the beach via a short dirt path with a chair and coffee to watch the sunrise. I noticed movement parallel to the shoreline and my eyes followed the wake of a muskrat chug chug chugging along the surface of the water. When I looked up, there was a crane stretching his long neck while crossing the sky in the opposite direction. Creatures were crisscrossing by water and by air while I observed from my place on the sandy shore. Everything was mysterious and muffled by the fog rising to meet the sunrise.

That evening I watched the blue water and the blue sky divided by a strip of trees. I thought about being in the space at the seam. I am like a tree with legs. I am in between, but I can move around. During my hike earlier in the day, I was keenly aware of navigating between the activity above and the complex systems below. I was overwhelmed with wonder when I saw these parts as one in this blue-on-blue scene just before sunset. The interconnections and parallels in this scheme are grand. I thought: Being in Nature is a prayer.

I liked those words, though I had questions. I enjoy ideas and this one sparked interest. I wanted to explore it. I composed a text to a wise friend and deleted it. Such a text seemed demanding of his time. I was in the woods but wanted to discuss an idea, clarify it. I wanted feedback. Here are some words we don’t often say: Social media came to the rescue. Lol. I shared those six words in a post. “Being in Nature is a prayer.” My friend Bob offered a beautiful, thought-provoking perspective. His words were exactly what I needed and nudged my idea along a productive path.

The next day, my third, I swam in that water. It felt like the final step to a deeply meaningful connection to Nature that had been building all weekend. I reflected on my time near the water. I spent the edges of the day there, the transition times, sunrise and sunset. I saw things differently from that beach.

My days were dictated by Nature. I got up at first light. I spent my days hiking, keenly aware of my surroundings as I gathered words to share. I ate simple food, some of which I cooked on an open fire. I retired to my tiny tent when the sun went down. There are 12 hours of darkness this time of year. That’s too much time to spend sleeping, so I extended my meditation time and read by headlamp. Sleep came easily with chilly nights and the physical exhaustion from long hikes.

At the end of my time in these woods, I felt full and connected. The words that snuck into my consciousness as a hint grew into an idea that begins to explain the sense of connectedness I felt as I packed up and left my campsite after four days and three nights living in deference to Nature. There is a difference between deference and harmony. For me, occasionally stripping away comforts and habits, submitting deeply, is a way to reset. The mind, body and spirit benefit immensely.

Being in Nature is a Prayer. Prayer is a nonverbal expression of thanks. It is a way of moving through the day. Prayer is perspective, a mindset of deep gratitude, awe and submission.