I was thinking about the feeling of beauty on my walk today—a generous mile down the street and back again. It wasn’t the look of beauty I sought to know, but the feeling of it.

The birds are silent and hiding wherever birds do. Roads shimmer and shine, empty. People wait inside for the weather to pass, but I can’t pass it up.

I found something in the forest that I once lost. It was hanging on spider silk and dripping with the sun. It was tucked into the palm of a young leaf. It was a secret shared between birds that somehow, I understood perfectly. Urgently. I walked and I walked. Impossibly, I understood more and deeper.

I’ve come here troubled and desperate; I’ve come brimming with joy. I have come searching intensely for things I can’t name, and on days when I’ve wanted for nothing. The ocean has never given me bad advice. “Keep going,” it says as it reaches for my ankles and turns eleven new kinds of blue in the distance, “Keep on.”

Love gives meaning to the landscape. I might believe I’m looking out over an ordinary pond or meadow, but to someone, it’s the most sacred space in the world. All the stones are precious ones, all the forests have magic in them, and every city street is home sweet home to someone.