There are many things I love on this earth, but one of my favorites is the sweat lodge. I chose this image from my home in Colorado because it captures the stillness that often settles over a covered lodge on a snowy winter day, just before the hot rocks are brought in, the Grandfathers.

When you are in a sweat lodge in the snow, there is a quiet magic to the sacred space. The birds have fallen silent. The crickets are gone. Even the distant sounds of passing cars seem to disappear. The crisp winter air awakens your senses while the glowing stones draw you into the warm, moist womb of the lodge.

As water is poured over the rocks, they sizzle and hiss as the steam rises around you. Then, when the pouring stops, something remarkable happens. The stones begin to sing. It is a gentle, harmonious sound that invites everyone to become still… to listen… to remember.

In those moments, silence is no longer the absence of sound. It becomes the presence of something much deeper. Without saying a word, the Earth reminds us that wisdom has always been here—held in the water, the stones, the willow branches, the air, and the quiet presence of those who came before us.

Perhaps you’ve known a moment like this yourself. Maybe it was in the mountains, beside a river, beneath a canopy of trees, or in the stillness of your own backyard. Some places seem to remember us before we remember ourselves.