But right now, I’m not.
I lived in a place I felt was over-saturated.
A beautiful place with some wild spaces and many wonderful people, but not enough of one and too many of the other for me to feel like I could spin around in circles on a beach alone.
Off I wandered, and I came upon a bigger, wilder, more beautiful place.
A remote place with so much space for birds and beasts, and the huge array of not-so-tiny bugs.
I felt I’d like to make a space for myself here, without making too much of a dent in it; without disturbing it.
I came quietly, with little to offer this land but admiration and respect for it, and love.
On a bad day, stomping about slapping the incessant biting flies from my legs and obsessing about my dog picking up fleas or ticks, I see a great cloud of dragonflies zooming in across the sea, like an army, and I have to stop feeling foul.
I can’t but stop, and smile, and wonder at how extraordinary and charming this new space is, without too many people in it.
But of course, other people come.
Everybody wants to be near the sea, watch the stars in the unpolluted sky. Everybody wants to breathe in clean air and feel the sun on their skin.
Everybody wants to walk in the green green hills and see the storks drift over their heads.
And some of them want to live here too.
And of course, they want to make money.
And the best way to make money is to share the beautiful wild untouched wonderful with more people, in exchange for their money.
Who am I to tell them they shouldn’t? Who am I to discourage them from making a space for themselves? Who am I to come here and feel a sense of ownership?
It’s not my country. It’s not my land. They’re not my dragonflies.
I’m not the guardian of the place where the wild things are.
They come upon the marvel of a wild place. And they put dents in it. What then?