How good to know that spots have clout, too. That a clump of trees, a curve of trail, a stand of meadow grass could be noticed, claimed, taken to heart.
I think about the spots I love, places I pass daily, corners worn smooth by passage, roads ridden and paths walked. A new boardwalk in the woods. A nubby stump in the forest. A block of sidewalk in the city, pavement stones ragged.
These are the textures that become dreams, that take hold of us and won't let go.
Do we adopt the spot — or does the spot adopt us?