Quotes About Nature

Performance II Two Women Dreaming Landmarks Angatja, July, 1993 Each morning we open our eyes to an ever changing sky through patterns of feathery mulga leaves from an envelope of green canvas, a fire of mulga at our feet, and curved mulga branches at our head. The camp is a clump of mulga trees beside a little hill, a huge pile of reddish brown rocks, puli.

Doctrine of Signatures. It held that the medicinal qualities in plants were made visible as "signatures of Natures owne impression," and writers quite commonly express the wish that human beings bore similar imprints so that one could tell a person's worth by some sign on his person.

I like dogs Big dogs Little dogs Fat dogs Doggy dogs Old dogs Puppy dogs I like dogs A dog that is barking over the hill A dog that is dreaming very still A dog that is running wherever he will I like dogs.

If you become a bird and fly away from me, I will be a tree that you come home to.

When the groundhog casts his shadow And the small birds sing And the pussywillows happen And the sun shines warm And when the peepers peep Then it is Spring

Nights and days came and passed And summer and winter and the rain. And it was good to be a little Island. A part of the world and a world of its own All surrounded by the bright blue sea.

Dear Father, hear and bless thy beasts and singing birds, and guard with tenderness small things that have no words.

I envy the trees that grow at crossroads. They are never forced to decide which way to go...

I think of my feather pen as something magical that still belongs to a wing. All I need is paper, ink, and the courage to let wild words soar.

But love is a wildly unpredictable hurricane wind, not a swirling blue ocean with peaceful shores.

I would have run away Into the forest To live in a nest Made of dreams And green leaves

Mud and dust almost have personalities. They seem to be alive. Like scoundrels. True villains. Enemies.

I freed myself in order to be alone. For me freedom means solitude, a solitude full of walks in the country, solitary strolls through unfamiliar cities, books scattered around my bed at night, lying open at random pages.

Only in us do the dead live. Water flows downhill through us. The sun cools in our bones. We are joined with all living in one singing web of energy. In us live the dead who made us. In us live the children unborn. Breathing each other's air, drinking each other's water, eating each other's flesh, we grow like a tree from the earth.

True goodness is like water. Water helps the ten thousand things without itself striving. Water flows down into the low places men despise, for water is in the Way

i find it easy to admire in trees what depresses me in people

Snow lies on my fields though the air is so warm I want to roll on my back and wriggle. Sure, the dark downhill weep shows who's winning, and the thatch of tall grass is sticking out of the banks, but I want to start digging and planting. My swelling hills, my leafbrown loamy soil interlaced with worms red as mouths, my garden, why don't you hurry up and take your clothes off ?

The whole house seemed to be permeated by the scent of the herb garden.

all about him stretched the lush green countryside in which there were to every acre a thousand hiding-places, deep and wide and quiet enough to hold so small and worthless a thing as a single unit of mortal clay. "I

THE country round the Mill at Pontisbright at five o'clock on a June morning was of itself a spell. The near distance was dizzy with haze, the dew beads were thick on the grass, the waters were limpid and ringing, the birds sang with idiotic abandon, the air was scented with animals and a thousand flowers.

I think if you want to eat more meat you should kill it yourself and eat it raw so that you are not blinded by the hypocrisy of having it processed for you.

Now you are in the true world, and a great deal more is required of you. Here you must befriend real wolves, and lure real birds down from the sky. Here you must endure real people around you, and we are not uniformly kind; we are damaged and impulsive, each in our own way. It is harder. It is not safe. But it is what you were born to.

The earth's lungs, coated in green ooze and thaw, breathed out blossom-scent and sour rot and fungus-must, wet and warm and aware, where before the air had been cold and blind, remote as the moon.

Why must we climb away to the seal-less parts of the world?