Quotes About Nature

Yes, there it was, the reek of a man, strong and sour as the smell of a rutting goat.

But bees that hae honey in their mouths hae stings in their tails, aye?' He

The moon was beginning to rise when they set out, and a good thing, too, Brianna thought. Even with the big, lopsided gold orb sailing up out of a cradle of stars and shedding its borrowed radiance over the sky, the trail beneath their feet was invisible. So were their feet, drowned in the absolute black of the forest at night.

Leaving me to plant the rest of the garlic, Mrs. Fitz sailed away like a galleon, young Alec bobbing in her wake. I worked contentedly through the morning, planting garlic, pinching back dead flower heads, digging out weeds and carrying on the gardener's never-ending battle against snails, slugs, and similar pests. Here, though, the battle was waged bare-handed, with no assistance from chemical antipest compounds.

I had turned the earth in my garden the day before, planting the winter seeds to sleep and swell, to dream their buried birth. Now is the time when we reenter the womb of the world, dreaming the dreams of snow and silence.

Post coitum omne animalium triste est

we might as well be afloat as earthbound, the heave and fall beneath me the rise of planking, and the sound of the pines the wind in our sails.

THE MAN IN THE WOOD

left me studying the birds, with the assurance that he would shortly

It's a rare plant," he said, touching the sprig in my open hand. "Flowers, fruit and leaves all together at the one time. The white flowers are for honor, and red fruit for courage—and the green leaves are for constancy.

Rain was roaring on the tin roof now, and lightning struck close by, blue-white and sharp with ozone. We rode it together, forked and light-blind, breathless, and the thunder rolled through our bones.

And some say the loch's bottomless—got a hole in the center deeper than anything else in Scotland. On

me. The cloud cover had parted for a moment and the light touched the

June 16, 1778 The forest between Philadelphia and Valley Forge

MacNeill of Barra Meadows

Here an ancient oriel window opened glassless to the sky, and the light of the hunter's moon washed us in silver. We lay clasped together, damp skins cooling in the winter air, waiting for our racing hearts to slow and breath to return to our heaving bodies.

into a wolf?" The wary dislike stamped

But bees that hae honey in their mouths hae stings in their tails, aye?

And it was a fine day, one fit for birdsong, rambling the woods, and maybe fishing a bit near sunset.

the fragrant bunches of nettle and dried lavender overhead, dusty gold

We camped for the night in a hollow near a good-sized creek—one big enough for trout. Jamie and Ian waded into this with enthusiasm, harrying the finny denizens with whippy rods cut from black willow.

said, and though the sun was warm on her back, she shivered, gooseflesh pebbling her

Twilight was rising beyond the window, from field and wood and river. People spoke of night falling, but it didn't, really. Darkness rose, filling first the hollows, then shadowing the slopes, creeping imperceptibly up tree trunks and fenceposts as night swallowed the ground and rose up to join the greater dark of the star-spread sky above

of grass, watching the