I recently found a collection of nature essays by Thomas Merton called When the Trees Say Nothing: Writings on Nature, edited by Kathleen Deignan. The title really caught my attention. How can that be, I asked? The trees talk to me every day. I cannot imagine a world when they say nothing, one where we…
When the temperatures drop, the number of hours of daylight shortens and a tree’s sugar intake is reduced, the leaves shine the most. We all marvel in the beauty of brilliant oranges, deep reds and bright yellow hues that the trees have been hiding under shades of green the entire season. Something about the changing…
Because of love I kneel down here— To a bird, a seed, a story. To a wildflower, a stream, a vision of The light cracking on sky Because of love I leave myself here— On the far side of the place where I thought I was going— Nearer to something that I cannot name, And…
When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come to the…
It is early September 2024. My windows are open, and the symphony of the woods is lilting through the screen. The crickets provide an anchoring hum, birdsong provides a melody, and the gentle, rhythmic movement of the leaves adds percussion to this morning’s serenade. The early sun is resting on the trees, coaxing the woods…
by Erin Lothes, PhD, as originally published in New Theology Review 26:2, March 2014 Every year, the Venetian doge sails out into the lagoon from San Marco Square to throw a jeweled ring into the waters, ceremonially sealing the marriage of Venice with the sea. For centuries Venice’s fortunes rose and fell with the maritime…
“Trees heal.” —Susan Bauer-Wu, A Future We Can Love A tree in Gatesville, Texas. I grew up in west Texas, where there are few trees, the southernmost part of the Great Plains. My mother, however, grew up in central Texas, where there are many beautiful live oak trees. On a visit to my grandmother, who…
It is my great privilege to live On a North bank of Indian Creek Where in our back yard, The creek flows from East to West. And where forty or fifty yards downstream The creek begins to make a grand U-turn Achieved with great dignity Over another hundred yards or so Which, when once complete…
“Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” —Mary Oliver, Sometimes My lifelong goal as a writer: to articulate the ways that how we treat the earth and the body are deeply rooted, and how grief, love, and care for the natural world in the tending of the dying and dead…
After the August 2020 derecho, Laura Weber, former Prairiewoods associate director and retreat coordinator, expressed the emotions and powerful energy of how the storm impacted the lands and life at Prairiewoods. She used deeply expressive language like the “Gentle giants of unwavering peace” to describe the trees. I was especially enamored by the last two…