Quotes About Nature

Once you've been touched by the land, the wind never blows so cold again, because your love files the edges off it.

A garden is made of hope.

In my youth I believed in somewhere else I put my faith in travel now I am becoming my own tree

After an age of leaves and feathers someone dead thought of the mountain as money and cut the trees that were here and the wind and the rain at night. It is hard to say it.

all these years I have looked through your limbs to the river below and the roofs and the night and you were the way I saw the world

I have come back through the years to this stone hollow encrypted in its own stillness I hear it without listening

Place" On the last day of the world I would want to plant a tree what for not for the fruit the tree that bears the fruit is not the one that was planted I want the tree that stands in the earth for the first time with the sun already going down and the water touching its roots in the earth full of the dead and the clouds passing one by one over its leaves

The wind lifts the whole branch of the poplar carries it up and out and holds it there while each leaf is the whole tree reaching from its roots in the dark earth out through all its rings of memory to where it has never been

this is the white wind that you cannot believe here it is and the owl sails out to see whose turn it is tonight to be changed

A visitor to a garden sees the successes, usually. The gardener remembers mistakes and losses, some for a long time, and imagines the garden in a year, and in an unimaginable future.

Place" On the last day of the world I would want to plant a tree what for not the fruit the tree that bears the fruit is not the one that was planted I want the tree that stands in the earth for the first time with the sun already going down and the water touching its roots in the earth full of the dead and the clouds passing one by one over its leaves

Late in May as the light lengthens toward summer the young goldfinches flutter down through the day for the first time to find themselves among fallen petals cradling their day's colors in the day's shadows of the garden beside the old house

Trees" I am looking at trees they may be one of the things I will miss most from the earth though many of the ones I have seen already I cannot remember and though I seldom embrace the ones I see and have never been able to speak with one I listen to them tenderly their names have never touched them they have stood round my sleep and when it was forbidden to climb them they have carried me in their branches

Testimone Voglio raccontare di com'erano le foreste Dovrò parlare in una lingua dimenticata p#109

Once I came back to the leaves just as they were falling into the rattling of magpies and the waving flights through treetops beyond the long field tawny with stubble a scatter of sheep wandered there circling slowly as a galaxy ferrying the gray lights that were theirs wading into their shadows with the stalks whispering under them and the day shining out of the straw

On the last day of the world I would want to plant a tree what for not for the fruit the tree that bears the fruit is not the one that was planted I want the tree that stands in the earth for the first time with the sun already going down and the water touching its roots in the earth full of the dead and the clouds passing one by one over its leaves

The sun sets in the cold without friends Without reproaches after all it has done for us It goes down believing in nothing When it has gone I hear the stream running after it It has brought its flute it is a long way

now there is only the river that was always on its own way

Waking Hanging upward into the rushing summer Calling -- Everything is The answer Too fast --

In my youth I believed in somewhere else I put faith in travel now I am becoming my own tree — W.S. Merwin, from "Wild Oats," The Moon Before Morning (Copper Canyon Press, 2014)

How We Are Spared" At midsummer before the dawn an orange light returns to the mountains Like a great weight and the small birds cry out And bear it up

The story of each stone leads back to a mountain.

come back believer in shade believer in silence and elegance believer in ferns believer in patience believer in the rain

By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!