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Start feeling more grounded—in just a few minutes a day.
Download the free 7-Day Nature Reconnection Guide and begin gently regulating your nervous system through simple, research-informed practices—no forest required.
We respect your space.
No spam. No noise. Just occasional, grounding emails with reflections, practices, and seasonal insights. Unsubscribe anytime—no hard feelings.
Small Stillnesses: What Urban Nature Can Teach Us About Presence
Mae Whitburn
- June 02, 2025
A pigeon struts across the cracked pavement near my feet, its iridescent neck flashing violet in the morning sun. Somewhere above, a plane hums across the sky. A wattlebird calls out in its nasal, unmistakable voice. And I remember to breathe.
In the middle of the city—amid traffic lights, concrete, and the push-pull of modern life—there are small stillnesses. Tiny invitations to stop, to notice, to return to ourselves. Urban nature might not have the sweeping drama of old-growth forests or coastal cliffs, but it holds its own kind of quiet wisdom.
The Whisper Beneath the Noise
It can be easy to dismiss city nature as second-rate. After all, what is a roadside tree compared to a national park? But I’ve come to believe these small green moments—the weeds growing through a brick wall, the shimmer of leaves in a courtyard, the murmur of a stream behind an industrial estate—have something profound to teach us. They remind us that nature is not a place “out there.” It’s here. Always here. Even in the mess and motion of urban life.
Presence begins with paying attention.
When we pause to notice the resilience of a plant breaking through asphalt, or the golden softness of late afternoon sun filtering through street trees, we are practicing something deeply therapeutic. This is the practice of presence. And presence is where healing begins.
Urban Nature and Mental Health
Research continues to show that spending time in green spaces—yes, even small, city-based ones—has measurable benefits for our mental wellbeing. Urban parks, gardens, and even tree-lined streets can help lower stress levels, reduce anxiety, and improve our mood and cognitive function. These spaces give us a chance to downshift from the fast pace of our professional lives and reconnect with something older, slower, and wiser.
In trauma-informed practice, we talk about regulating the nervous system—helping the body feel safe enough to rest, digest, and recover. Time in nature, even in its smallest urban forms, can support that process. It helps us ground. Orient. Reconnect.
A Kind of Listening
Urban nature also teaches us a gentler way of being. The birds don’t hurry. The wind doesn’t compete. There’s a sense of rhythm and rest in the way the world moves when we stop to notice it. I often think about the difference between reacting and responding. Urban nature invites a response—a pause, a breath, a choice.
Whether I’m sitting on a bench beside a tree-filled street, watching bees in a planter box outside a café, or walking my dog through the park while barefoot in the grass, I’m reminded: there is presence to be found here.
And presence—this willingness to be with what is, to soften the edges of the moment—is one of the greatest gifts we can offer ourselves.
An Invitation
You don’t need to book a weekend retreat to feel the benefits of nature. Start with what’s close. A single leaf, a patch of sky, the smell of rain on warm pavement. Let yourself arrive fully, even for a minute.
Let urban nature teach you.
Listen for the stillness between car horns.
Watch the light move across buildings.
Feel your breath in sync with the breeze.
There is wisdom here, in the smallest of places.
About the Author
Mae Whitfern
Mae Whitfern is a writer and mental health educator exploring the meeting place between nervous system science and the natural world. With a background in community health and public education, Mae specialises in making evidence-informed practices feel gentle, grounded, and doable—especially for people navigating stress, burnout, or urban life.
Her work is shaped by lived experience, years in the public sector, and countless walks in local bushland. She believes healing doesn’t require perfect conditions—just a patch of sky, a moment of stillness, and the willingness to begin again.
Mae writes from the edges of Naarm/Melbourne, where she lives with her partner and a scruffy rescue dog
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