The Poetry of Nature

For the first time in human history we are in danger of having a generation of youngsters who have never experienced what we call nature, who have never spent quality time in what we affectionately call the “outdoors”.

It is possible, if we keep going the way we are, many children may never hear wild bird calls, sleep in a tent, paddle a canoe, fish, hunt, or understand the myriad of kingdoms that exist within the forest canopy and also under the leaves of the forest floor and how we have a symbiotic relationship in mutual survival.

To me that is a sadness beyond understanding. I share the goals of the Children and Nature Network and hope that every child, young and old, will experience what is possible with every walk in the woods.

Nature Walk

© 2014 revised Rolland G. Smith

My walk began at forrest's edge, beneath a blue dream sky

The morning air was crisp, no dust came from the dry.

I looked around at nature knowing I would find

Her rhythm in a rock, and songs within her rhyme.

I heard it first upon the path, walking, slowly, not too far.

It faded in and out of mind, like a distant twinkling star.

Then louder came its gentle tone, uniquely humming mild,

When tuning in to natures sound your spirit is beguiled.

I hear the bubbling sparkle of a trickling tiara stream

That slides o’er stone and granite bead crowning Gaia queen.

You feel it in the ebbing wind with all its names that please,

“Refreshing,” “Cooling,” “Gentle,” special kinds of breeze.

You see it in the flora and the rainbows of the flower,

As blossoms bloom with color in a natural sculptured bower.

You taste sweet nature’s breath when fragrance fills the air,

With tiny pollens of her heart, perfumes of scented prayer.

Nature’s essence is profound; her truth comes when you listen,

To the dew that’s on the grass and hear the sunlight glisten.

With squinting crystals in the bright that hide when it is warm,

But then return the liquid life in shower and in storm.

There’s tiny life upon the ground, in trails of hurried ants.

It’s also on and in the healing medicine plants.

I find it often in the trees, amid a darting of delight

As playful fluttering feathered ones put magic in their flight.

There are troubled things to know from the scars of human reach,

We need to heed the warning shrill of the Owl’s casting screech.

Nature’s sound speaks many tongues to tell us there is trouble

For in the print of humankind, the future reeks in rubble.

But on my walk I shall not dwell upon predicted bad

For it would change my wooded walk and change my heart to sad.

In all my walks, on many paths, even ones without a tree,

I choose to find the joy of life, for nature lives in me.