Sean's Letter to Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature,

The mountain was empty today, Gaia, I suppose because of the weather. On the west side, I stopped a ways down the trail and turned to face the wind—at this time of year (as you know), the cool weather makes the mountain wind crisp and biting—and, surrounded on both sides by the tall native Taiwan grass, the thick blades closely packed, I just stared into the greyness. You know how I feel when I'm alone. The silence and the closeness of this day, at that spot, perfectly created my ideal loneliness. For twenty minutes I let your wind caress my face. Nothing could move me from that spot.

Are you planning more of the same weather for later this year? I hope so. We don't get it that often in Taipei city because the buildings block it out. We have to go to the mountains most times to experience it.

I know we haven't had a meaningful contact in quite some time, and this is my fault. Most of my days are spent in the school, and I don't have many opportunities to go and visit you. Although I see you around the city occasionally, this is not enough for me; I want to be with you always — alone and surrounded by you. I read a story recently entitled Sailing Around the World Alone. The man in this true story writes of the infinite solitude and singular aloneness that he felt drifting on the open ocean with only the lapping of the water against his little boat's sides and the fish for company. I feel this way each and every time you and I are together, whether this be on the mountain in Taipei or on the open expanses of Saskatchewan's Qu' Appelle Valley.

I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps tomorrow, after class, we could meet on the mountain. I don't think my wife will mind, indeed, she is quite fond of you and even will come with me sometimes to visit our favourite places.

Be well, Gaia.
The greatest of your passion remains with me always.