For six months, I have been living on a coffee farm turned artist residency in the rolling Andean foothills of Colombia. Its 200-acres have provided the space and stillness to truly immerse myself in the language of the land.
One observation in particular has stuck with me: guilt does not exist in nature. Sure, a dog might avert its eyes after chewing up your favorite pair of shoes, but the weight and duration of guilt seem unique to human experience.
Pushing through trails of elephant grass one morning, I found myself face to face with a magnificent stretch of spiderweb. A black orb-weaver rested silently at its center. It was a marvel, illuminated by dew and sunlight, and my heart sunk as I realized I would need to pass through it to continue on my way.