Nature Study When You Live in a City
Every nature study photograph looks the same. A meadow. A child with a magnifying glass kneeling in long grass. Nobody's neighbour is parking a van four feet away.
I know what that picture does to a mother in a flat with a balcony, because I have felt it myself. It says: this is not for you. Come back when you have land.
That is nonsense, and it is worth saying plainly.
The earth is the LORD'S, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. — Psalm 24:1, KJV
© 2026 Joanna Colomas Magazine
The Sky Above a City Is the Same Sky
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained. — Psalm 8:3, KJV
This is the part that changes everything, and almost nobody says it.
You may not have a hedgerow. You may not have a pond, or a wood, or a single tree you are allowed to touch. But the sky over your street is the identical sky over the meadow in the photograph. Same clouds. Same wind. Same birds crossing it. Same moon, at the same phase, on the same night.
There is no such thing as a lesser sky. It is the one part of creation that was never divided up, and your children have as much of it as anyone.
Choose a Standing Place
He hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation. — Acts 17:26, KJV
© 2026 Joanna Colomas Magazine
Here is where to begin, and it takes one minute.
Find a spot you can reach in under sixty seconds, in any weather. A doorstep. A landing window that opens wide enough to lean out of. One corner of a balcony. A step by the bins, honestly, if that is what you have.
It does not need to be pretty. It needs to be easy, because you will come back to it far more often than you expect, and the ones people choose for beauty get used twice.
Then find one thing near it that does not move. A chimney. A lamp post. The edge of the roof opposite. That is your fixed point, and from now on everything in the sky gets measured against it. Clouds pass it. Birds cross it. The moon sits above it or below it.
Ours is a telephone pole. It is not beautiful. It has told my children more about the wind than anything else we own.
What a City Gives You That a Field Does Not
Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.— Matthew 10:29, KJV
This is not a consolation prize. There are things your children can observe that a child in a meadow genuinely cannot.
© 2026 Joanna Colomas Magazine
Wind behaves visibly around buildings. In an open field, wind is just wind. In a street it splits, funnels, drops to nothing behind a wall and roars at the corner two steps later. Stand your child at the end of a building and then behind it. That stillness is made of something. You cannot teach that in a field.
Birds use structures, and structures let you watch them. Ledges, eaves, gutters, aerials, scaffolding. A city bird is often at eye level and often unbothered by you, which is the opposite of every bird in a hedgerow.
Straight lines cross your sky. Aircraft leave trails of ice crystals. Some vanish in seconds; others widen and soften for an hour until you cannot tell them from natural cirrus. Watching one fade or spread is a real observation with a real answer, and it happens over cities far more than over fields.
Note:
And you can measure the light. Count what you can see from your street. Then count from somewhere darker that you already know in daylight, with an adult. The difference is the lesson. Not a sad one — a real one.
I will not pretend otherwise: you will see fewer stars from a lit street. Most families will never stand under a wilderness sky, and promising one is the fastest way to lose them. What I will say is that your eyes keep improving for half an hour in the dark, and almost nobody waits long enough to find out what their own street can offer.
The Ten-Minute Version
Be still, and know that I am God. — Psalm 46:10, KJV
On the days when there is nothing left in you:
Open the window. Look up. Say what colour the sky is at the top and what colour it is at the edge — they are almost never the same. Count the eighths of it that have cloud. Notice one thing that is moving.
Then close the window.
That is a complete observation. Write it down if there is a pencil nearby, and do not if there is not.
You Are Not Behind
The child in the meadow photograph is not ahead of yours. They are looking at grass while your child is learning to read the air over a street — and both are skills that travel.
A child who can look up from a balcony can look up anywhere, for the rest of his life. That is the whole of it, and no garden is required.
Above Our Heads is our sky study for ages 4 to 14 (it adapts).
Every of its 18 movements can work from a doorstep, a balcony or a window that opens — it was written that way on purpose.
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You do not need a forest, a garden, or a car. You need a window that opens and somewhere to stand — and a city gives your children things a field never will.