"We are so close to the Earth that we often forget—it is alive.
And
the language of its aliveness is what we call nature.
When we listen to
nature, we are listening to the Earth.
Of course, such a conversation
takes time,
because we are too small to readily grasp what the Earth has
to say.
The vast Earth has carried us our whole lives. Can we thank it?
It has held up and endured everything for thousands of years.
Can we
ask it how?
It speaks with a thousand tongues, none of which uses words.
Yet, to build a relationship with that which holds us up seems
essential.
But what can we hear?
As the smog we’ve created prevents us from
seeing the sky,
the noise of machinery we’ve created prevents us
from
hearing the wind and birds and quiet teachers
that have always been
there.
When I leave the mechanical hive, even briefly,
I can tell that
the horse runs to know its father, the wind.
Just the other day, I took a
walk where there is no pavement.
I lost my way and followed two geese
until I reached the end of my small logic.”
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