Waving Back

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I am lying under a quaking aspen tree, sunlight is setting its gold and copper leaves ablaze, and in the slightest of breezes, every leaf seems to be waving at me. So I wave back.

I wonder. If we engage with other living things—whisper to the wren, pat the trunk of the ancient olive tree, while stopping to sit against it to listen—are we coming out, showing that we acknowledge the spirit and intelligence in all living things? Moving from fringe or cute thoughts to saying, no, this relationship is real.