Being re-created in, through, and by a direct encounter with creation, which is the work of the Creator, is necessary for me. There is certainly a sense in which creation can be said to be sacramental. Does the psalmist not state forthrightly, "The heavens declare the glory of God; the firmament proclaims the works of his hands"? (Ps 19:2)
Don't we all
"long for rest... look for pleasure
Away from counter, court, or school"?
I don't mind saying that getting out, not just more (I have always managed to "get out," even when it meant being coaxed out by my wife, who often cares for me more than I care for myself), but a lot more is one of my resolutions for this year, one I hope extend beyond the somewhat artificial boundary of the 365 days that will constitute this year.
Growing up along the Wasatch Front of the great Rocky Mountains, I spent a lot of time hiking, marveling at the beauty and grandeur of creation. I remember being fascinated by finding the seashells, fossils of the pre-historic Lake Bonneville, which filled the valley in which I grew up, hiking in the canyons, which, at least when compared to the dry, dusty, rocky, and barren westward front of the mountains, which were accessible from my house, seemed green, lush, and cool. Where, oh where, are you, my Penmaen Pool?
Appropriate to today are more lovely words from Hopkins' poem:
Of New Year's month or surly Yule
Furred snows, charged tuft above tuft, tower
From darksome darksome Penmaen Pool.