Finding Spirit in Concrete Spaces

Many years ago, I used to walk to work, past an abandoned house with a mesh-covered garage opening that framed a view into a wild courtyard beyond. The garage itself was dark and uninviting, littered with urban debris, but the courtyard was an unexpected oasis - vibrant green and teeming with birds, skinks, and insects. I'd often stand there, probably looking like some weird, crazy lady, just absorbing that magical juxtaposition of decay and life, and the welcoming green beyond the grime.

What I didn't realize then was that I was practicing a form of urban animism - forming a relationship with the spirit of that place. It wasn’t coincidence when I stopped at the same spot most days of the week, but a conversation, spirits of place reaching out across the concrete divide. When we pause to notice these spaces, our attention becomes a form of offering, a sacred act of recognition in our distraction-filled world.

Perhaps the most visible evidence of urban spirit is what I call the Revenant Wild - nature asserting itself through sidewalk cracks, on rooftops, and in forgotten corners. These persistent green reminders show us that the boundary between "natural" and "human-made" is largely an illusion. Our cities aren't separate from nature but simply nature reorganized by human hands, albeit in a contrived, convenient way. The skyscraper and the tree aren't opposites—they're cousins, different expressions of the same fundamental impulse toward creation. When we recognize this continuity, our daily urban journeys transform from mundane commutes into opportunities for connection with the ensouled world that surrounds us, concrete and all.

As well as the Revenant Wild, there are also spirits in the built environment, claiming space in cities that are full of these spots that speak to us if we listen - the persistently flickering streetlight, the corner where leaves always dance in spirals, the bus stop that somehow feels welcoming. Not all of these spirit-claimed spaces feel friendly, at least to me, but it doesn’t make them less real. Other spaces you can make friends with. Once, for a whole week, I left a handful of peanuts on a boarded over windowsill at the entrance to an alley.The alley never felt spiteful or hostile. It just captured my attention in that weird, visceral way but felt neutral and uncaring of my presence - certainly nothing like the courtyard behind the garage that always felt joyful. At the end of the week, I murmured some words of gratefulness and a friendly ‘see you around’. The next day, although I hadn’t planned to pass by the alleyway, I did. And there on the windowsill was a magnificently pristine white feather. The feather was undoubtedly from a seagull, trashbirds of all coastal cities, but it was beautiful nonetheless. That right there, reciprocity, is magic my friends. You can find your own magic in the city, you just need to look ;)

If urban animism tickles your fancy, I can recommend The City is a Labyrinth: a walking guide for urban animists  by Sarah Kate Istra Winter. A small book, but packed full of useful suggestions for building relationships with your local spirits.