At peace in the morning as I navigate over rocks and around plants just pushing thru the dirt lining the Colorado river. Orange desert glow mirrored on water.  A blue heron spares me no time with his posture frozen. Another croaks as broad wings widen, propelling forward to land and fish again. 
A moon not yet ready for goodbye centers itself over water. I search the rocks rising above me for big horn sheep and listen for their footsteps. Confident at least a few have watched as I passed under them. I pick up discarded glass, wrappers, fishing line, and bottle caps and put in a bag I brought for this purpose. I consider this price of admission trivial for all I’m given in return. On days I find nothing I’m assured someone has walked before me. I don’t have to see their action to appreciate the pristineness they’ve left behind. One night in the eastern Sierra I leaned on a rock as the sun set and watched a man fish while his wife or girlfriend slowly walked the shore stopping to pick up whatever trash her path crossed. In those moments I appreciate that connection with those who want to give back to Mother Earth. It took me reading the book Braiding Sweet Grass my aunt gave me before I really understood how appropriate the title Mother Earth is.
She gives so much, impossible to reciprocate all she provides, but like with all mothers any action is appreciated. And of course as I grow older, as my eyes open, I feel the need to give more.  
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Colorado River, Az