The Elk's Meditation

Winter - Week 8 2025 - On Graceful Shadows, Sacred Circles, and Quiet Joy

In Her Nature is a year long exploration into the healing power of the natural world. Season by season, setting out to awaken the spirit, and rekindle joy. The weekly journal of a neighborhood, its plants and birds and creatures — and how they are helping repair a heart and rebirth a soul.

An unexpected gift. In the distance I see an ellipse of shapes breaking the powdery white fields, and my heart starts racing. From more than a mile away, I know the elk have returned. As I venture closer, the smudge resolves into fifty or more bodies, their tawny coats stark against winter's canvas, circled up in wild communion. They've settled down here together, legs folded beneath them, warming their bellies in the snow. I can see pipes of steam rising from their nostrils in the crisp air.

The thrumming in my chest starts to slow and time stands still as I watch these mystical creatures from another realm melt into the landscape. Some are resting their heavy-antlered heads while others in this protective circle remain watchful, their eyes and ears pivoting, some looking in my direction. I hold my breath and stand motionless, knowing I'm witnessing a moment of rare winter peace.

While not exceptional, it’s still an uncommon event to happen upon a herd of elk where we live. This is a large group who have come down from their mountain kingdom searching for food and shelter in our valley. Despite their imposing presence, they move like graceful shadows, their circle a silent language of protection and belonging. They remain sovereigns of a wild world we can no longer know.

I drink in the sacredness of the moment, rooted in stillness so as not to shatter it. Their whispered bliss; this brief reprieve from a world of survival feels like a gift unintended for human eyes. And, as the sun breaks through clouds to warm their backs, I witness something both ordinary and profound - a fleeting harmony that has existed long before us and will persist long after our footprints fade.

"The doors to the world of the wild Self are few but precious. If you have a deep scar, that is a door, if you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much you almost cannot bear it, that is a door. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.”

– Clarissa Pinkola Estes

In the soft landscape of recovery, I'm finding more and more joy like these in their quieter forms. I've come to recognize that wellness arrives in unexpected moments, not through relentless pursuit, but through being open to the stillness. The elk understand instinctively their right to rest, to take what nourishment they need before continuing. In their bones they know what can take years for us to learn. That pauses are not weakness, and that the journey requires both movement and stillness.

Their collective wisdom spreads across the snow like a living meditation. No single elk stands alone; their very arrangement speaks of mutual protection, of knowing one's place in the larger whole. A wise counsel we could all use in these times of division and dismay.

What strikes me most is how they've adapted to winter's severity without losing their grace. These magnificent creatures don't wait for perfect conditions to experience peace; they create it within whatever circumstances they find. Their bodies, pressed against snow, generate warmth. Their circle, formed against exposure, creates shelter. They transform limitation into opportunity, a lesson for us all to heal where we stand.

The quiet joy I witness in this herd feels like permission to honor my own small moments of peace. Healing doesn't always announce itself with epiphanies. Sometimes it arrives as simply as breath fogging in cold air, as naturally as a great blue heron taking flight, and the sound of water running under frozen ice. And sometimes, as the honey-colored grasses bent over by the wind in the golden hour, as I walk with my old friend on the muddy trail.

Like these elk, we can learn to receive these offerings with neither grasping nor apology, but rather, by simply allowing quiet joy into the landscape of our lives.

As I reluctantly turn to leave, careful not to disturb their peaceful gathering, I’m aware, my heart will carry more than just the memory of these magnificent beings. I'll take with me a deeper understanding of what it means to create warmth in cold seasons.

The elk know when to settle, when to breathe, when to simply be. Perhaps that's the greatest gift they offer: not just a glimpse of their ancient ways, but a reflection of what we too might reclaim. An ability to find our way back to stillness, to community, to momentary perfection even in an imperfect world.

Tonight, as darkness falls, I'll remember them there. An ellipse of quiet resilience against the snow, continuing their timeless dance of survival, holding their ground in a world where the practice of simply noticing feels increasingly sacred.

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Weekly Nature Rx:

This week, find a spot outdoors where you can remain perfectly still for at least ten minutes. Notice what emerges in that stillness, the wildlife and birds that appear when they no longer perceive you as a threat, the subtle movements of plants in the breeze, the changing quality of light.

Practice elk-like patience, neither grasping nor rejecting whatever arises. Allow this deliberate pause to remind you that sometimes the most profound connections happen not through pursuit, but through the sacred practice of stillness and attention.

- Please do share your observations and photographs of what you are noticing this new week with me in the comments. It would be so lovely to hear from you!

As always, thank you so much for reading and supporting me.

Love,

Jane