Charles de Lint wrote "Spiritwalk", and one thing he gets so, so right is the ephemeral contact with the genius loci, or even tulpa, of a local area; the sensation of brushing against something that is more than what it appears to be, or of being filled with an emotion you neither understand nor resist. he calls it, alternatively, mysteries or Beauty; I think of them as the unshareable, intimate understanding of the natural world.
Discussion
that is, you can meet other people who understand, but you can never reach their island; you will always be calling across the gulf of locked individualism (which is invariable for any communicated experience).
there is a terrible aspect, a fragility to it, that daily life tears it down easily and effortlessly and then we are left understanding it should be there, but also understanding we are complicit in its destruction.