Relationships with the land can be deeply romantic. Sensual observations of a time and space draw upon feelings of wonder and fulfillment. Our connection with the land has influenced an array of decisions that range from personal awareness to social and cultural conflicts of power.
My memories of landscape involve three different locales. At a young age I lived in the northeast; the cold sensation of snow down the sleeve of my winter coat, dodging inch worms hanging from trees, the scent of a pile of raked leaves. Still young, my family relocated to a city of bayous on the coast of Florida: humidity so thick you could swim through it, salt air, watching and listening to dolphins swim. Later in life, as an adult, I relocated to Colorado and experienced a different relationship with the land: the quiet and stillness of a snowfall, a valley illuminated with light. Florida was flat, and although vast, I seemed to be on top of the landscape, in control of it. When in the Rocky Mountains I was diminished, surrounded by the landscape.