Mountains, Meadows, and Meaning.
A few weeks ago, I found myself cycling through the remote mountains of Montenegro. Each day unfolded with a gentle rhythm, not dictated by a timetable or inbox, but by the weather, the shape of the land, and the steady push of my pedals.
Immersing myself in unfamiliar places, where language, customs, and even silence felt different offered a kind of clarity I rarely experience at home.
Nature wasn’t just a view; it was a companion. Alive, abundant, and unapologetically present. Even the roadside verges buzzed with life: wildflowers, grasses, insects, birds. Biodiversity felt close and tangible, not hidden in a reserve but woven into the everyday.
And yet, that beauty sat alongside an unease. New roads were being laid, glamping sites emerging, signs of tourism and development creeping in. The contrast was sharp: the richness of the living landscape beside the slow but steady march of human appetite for minerals, destinations, growth.
What struck me most, though, were the people. The locals we met lived closely with nature. Pragmatic, resourceful, and deeply aware of the land. Their connection to place wasn’t romanticised; it was protective and respectful. But many also shared a quiet worry.
They could see change coming. They felt the weight of trying to hold on to what matters, even when they weren’t sure how. The question of how to protect what we love, while still needing to adapt and survive, appeared in many exchanges, and stays with me now.
For me, this journey wasn’t just about mountains or cycling or even beauty. It was about remembering. About listening. About noticing how alive I feel when I slow down and let nature lead for a while.
And about the quiet, persistent longing that I think many of us carry, to live in a better relationship with the natural world.
How do we stay connected, not just when we’re deep in the mountains, but in the middle of our everyday lives?
What I do know is that nature made space for me there. It reminded me what it feels like to notice, to be part of something bigger. And it asked something in return.
To pay attention. To tread lightly. To keep listening. And to act, in our own small everyday ways, with and for nature.
I wonder what it would feel like to create the conditions for life like that to flourish everywhere. Loud, unapologetic and vibrant.
Now that would be a wonderful thought...