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The roots are speaking. They tell me to be wary. To be alert. Today. Now. Soon. It will be time to be braced. The trees can sense the storm coming, far before our eyes can see the rain.
Be it literal or figurative storm, be ready. Pray the winds are kind to you.
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In times of despair, it is nice to know that I can walk into the forest and the trees will not judge me harshly.
When a tree catches fire, the swamp greets the flames at the root.
I envy the tree.
There's something very special about running your fingers through fresh mulch.
The smell of years of rot giving way to a new bed for green.
Sometimes it is difficult to take solace in the helplessness of individuality. It is easy to say "I am *just* a thread in a much larger fabric."
But we all know what happens when you pull loose a single thread. Such is it with the fabric of the natural world and the beings it is made up from. You cut down a tree, you kill a deer, you pick a mushroom, you erase a person, you move a rock... These are all threads. Any one of them could be the one that causes the whole thing to unravel. Even you.
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Some people wonder if love is part of being a thread of the natural world. And it is. Love means something a little different in every different part of nature. But it is still there.
I see love when I watch a bear defend their cub. There is love when one tree braces against another leaning in the wind. There is love when a rotting log or a stump gets mushy in the damp and nurses the growth of other things. There is even love in the way an insect or a haggleurn eats their mate; imagine being loved to the point of consumption and subsumation, being loved so much they needed you to be part of them.
Man, the threads of nature don't always form a pretty tapestry. But there's love in it. Love in the weaving of the threads and the image they create.
Often, I feel unloved. I can feel insignificant, unhappy, alone, scared. Gods, I feel so scared all the time.
It is easy to stand in a grand forest with your feet in the mud and to look up and feel like an ant. Like a grain of sand lost in the mire. Looking down can make you feel bigger but it does not erase the memory of the branches above you. To feel at ease you must become a tree. The trees don't care how tall they are, they only seek light and water. You can be the same. You can root yourself. You can become part of the forest.
