With these many, many
nature pictures I hope to implicitly erupt a love of nature. A deeper, more profound love of the one proliferating in your chest. Because the way we live has separated us from nature, and perhaps by extension our souls.
And because those Romantic poets like Lord Byron and John Keats and William Wordsworth were blessed precisely not because they were born in the hub of English Poetry, which is precisely these magnificent trees, these hills of grass, all these flowers, and those poets were right, to stay close to nature as a source of inspiration. I knew clarity, I believed; I hope to see more.
In our day and age there is also the saving nature dimension, but we can take it. The animals, the birds, the bees, and us, human beings, have no where else to go.
Love your Mother Earth.
Take selfies in Her.
See Her as not your background but the reason you are breathing and not dead.
Enjoy her leisures.
They are free.
And you, freer, within them.