When life is small, slow and contained, growing barely beyond the window panes, our connection to the wider web of nature can feel faint. When the intensity of illness, whether mental or physical, keeps us unwillingly inside, it can seem as though we are quite apart from the interconnectedness of life and from the wilder-than-human world that exists beyond. 

Contrary to this, however, our connection to nature does not necessarily weaken or lessen during these times of isolation and solitude, but rather has the potential to expand; for whilst you may not experience the expansiveness of nature, or be encircled by elements and living landscapes, it is entirely possible to be deeply connected to this wilder world still, through the curiosity you lend to the details and intricacies of its individual moments, however fleeting, however ‘small’. 

Moments and glimpses abound from inside; through windows and doorways the sights, sounds, smells and even touch of nature are rich and ever-present, ever-flowing. And where your senses land, your imagination too will follow…
 

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Whilst window gazing, your eyes may for a moment be spellbound by white wisps riding the air, perhaps spring blossom or downy feathers, dandelion seeds or tiny winged insects, and you wonder, where will they land? 

In a streak of hurried movement, field voles scurry to-and-fro from purple-sprigged heather, as you watch in wonder from behind the panes, silent and unnoticed; imagining what lies hidden beneath, you see warm woven nests and underground tunnels, the tread of nimble feet and winding burrows. On the outside of a bedroom window, a spider sits poised upon its web — what a marvel, to look at this eight-legged being so closely, to observe its silk-spinning and patterned body. 

Even within four walls, birdsong resounds through letterbox and window pane — neither glass nor stone can still this melody. The sounds of these winged beings circle every home, whether the clatter and chatter of jackdaws on roof tiles, the fleeting honking of migratory geese, the soft shimmering of wingbeat, or the night hoots of owls. 

Glancing outside, you see the beating black wings of a crow, their plumage for a moment sun-glossed and silvery, journeying to where you do not know, perhaps to roost, to forage or find. From your window vantage, you are drawn beyond to larger forms, to hedgerow lines and billowing clouds, to the rise and fall of the land, and to swathes of grass shimmering wave-like in the wind. And on that wind you may find the scent of blossom, of trees and grassland, of earth scorched or sodden.

When rain descends, hear its trickle and patter upon the panes; leave the window ajar to hear it met by soil and stone, by leaves and bark.

As the sun descends, and twilight skies and luminous moons emerge, open the window into the stillness and mystery of these nocturnal hours, into damp night air and unknown night sounds — be met by the call of owls and trill of songbirds, the rustle of trees and barking of foxes, or perhaps only silence, the soundlessness of roosting birds and slumbering trees, of the gentle glimmer of a star-lit sky.

One night, as you peer out onto the lamp-lit road, you glimpse a fox treading the empty tarmac, and watch as it wanders to-and-fro, tracing a scent — you silently wonder, do they sense my curious human eyes? 

They are in the shadow of streetlight, but you imagine the auburn of their thick coat, the warm earthen den they will retreat to at dawn, and the moths and moonlight they will meet along the way.

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When our lived experience is shaped so heavily by illness or disability, and the freedom to freely venture beyond our four walls is fleeting, such encounters are rich, startlingly vivid moments of wonder, solace, and of connectedness both to nature and to life itself. Know that in your solitude, you are no less connected to the wilder-than-human, to nature’s rhythms, and to the vast web of life.