I was feeling unsettled by the politics of the day and time devoted to re-calibrating for a new year and new decade. My friend Chris had a suggestion.

You need some time with nature.  Time to be with GREEN.

This advice sounded true enough.

I remember years ago, visiting a friend who lived near Sedona. Surrounded by panoramas of red clay mountains and cloudless azure skies, some might have been bowled over, but I couldn’t wait to leave.

I thought, “Give me a tree, any day.”

Hmmm… I closed my eyes as I contemplated Chris’s suggestion. Where can I find green plants and trees In January?

Thoughts of the Lincoln Park Conservatory flashed through my mind.  I imagined reading small signs describing featured plants in Latin, deeply breathing in the scent of humid, dark earth, and marveling at the steel and glass ceiling arching over tropical shoots and shrubs.

Just north of the what I believe to be the world’s largest free zoo, built shortly after the Civil War, the building itself is a nod to the importance of innovation and architecture in Chicago.

“Urbs in horto, City in a garden” is our official motto.  There are a lot of parks in neighborhoods, and there are a handful of glass oases which gives everyone a chance to enjoy bathing in greenery all year. Like wandering through the nearby zoo, an excursion to the Lincoln Park Conservatory for a dose of winter green is also free.

Stepping out of the cold onto the red brick path that traces the parcel of tropical vegetation, I considered what Dorothy must have experienced when she walked out of her cabin when it landed over the rainbow. As I walked away from shades of gray, a technical world came into view.

Like Dorothy, taking in the idea of “not being in Kansas anymore,”  I forgot all about winter, job stresses, politics, and other worries. I understood myself to be some magical and beautiful place. Oh my!

A statue in a fountain is the first thing visitors see, setting a tone of calm discovery. The building features a series of different rooms and is asymmetrical although the larger rooms all feature two pathways, one hugging the right side and one lining the left. Each path affords a different set of plants to examine (not a mirror image), but both paths take you on a comparable journey of mystery and beauty.

There’s a lot to see if you want to work your way through the series of chambers as a scientist. Benches set out where moss and wide leafed plants meet, or where the sounds of water can be heard, make great spots for lingering.

Always looking for irony, I was even amused by the placement of signs. A sign bearing the polite directive, “Please do not throw coins in the fern pond. They make our turtles sick” appeared just above an assortment of dimes and quarters and pennies in the shallow pool.

I sat, pretty much alone, on a worn wooden bench in the fern room. I closed my eyes.

I tuned in to the irregular sound of water flowing — into catch basins, or through hoses, or from small stone pitchers carried by figurines in fountains, I couldn’t tell you, but it was FLOWING.

The invisible crust of stale air seemed to have broken its hold on me. The indoor winter dryness gave way to a sort of juiciness. I didn’t have to see anything. I knew when I’d open my eyes, I would see many shades of green. I understood new life was all around me.

When I decided to walk again, I would move slowly and consciously over slickened red bricks which took on the excess water that ran off a small, man-made hills after watering.

I don’t think I was thinking about anything in particular. I could read about the specimens of striped bamboo that was nearby, but I wasn’t feeling motivated to learn anything or know anything. I just wanted to BE HERE.

The thermometer might have said it was twenty-something degrees, but I was so UNFROZEN.

And there I sat — for about twenty minutes.

Having a place to retreat to in the middle of winter or a personal season of busyness, where you can hear your heart beating and feel new life is no small thing.