Quotes About Nature

God's right here. In the dirt, the rain, the sky, the trees, the apples, the stars in the cottonwoods. In you and me, too. It's all connected and it's all God. Sure this is hard work, but it's good work because it's a part of what connects us to this land, Buck. This beautiful, tender land.

The day was hot and windless and the sky a hard china blue and I lay alone on the railroad bridge and cried my heart out above a river that seemed to have none.

Love is the only river I know whose current flows both ways.

The land is what it is. Life is what it is. God is what God is. You and me, we're what we are. None of it's perfect. Or, hell, maybe it all is and we're just not wise enough to see it." "Those orchard trees were in pretty bad

He held happiness in his hand easy as if he'd just, I don't know, plucked a blade of grass from the ground.

what is God but the whole of that river? When I look back at the summer of 1932, I see a boy not quite thirteen doing his best to pin down God, to corral that river and give it a form he could understand. Like so many before him, he shaped it, and reshaped it, and shaped it again, and yet it continued to defy all his logic. I would love to be able to call out to him and tell him in a kindly way that reason will

In the simple way of the wild daisies that grew in the grass of the pasture behind our home she offered the beauty of herself without pretension.

Not forget. Accept. We do what we can, and then we let go and accept that the hand of Kitchimanidoo, the Great Mystery, is at work in all things. In you, me, Mariah, this shining big water. And even in this Windigo, though we may not understand how this is so.

with hand-painted flowers.

donned their body armor, mounted their horses, and continued after Nightwind. They rode through the day without incident, the whole time in snowfall. Periodically

although the rain would miss us I could see quite well the silver bolts of lightning forged on the anvil of the great thunderhead. I slipped downstairs and out the front door and sat on the porch steps. A wind cooler than anything I'd felt in days breathed into my face and I watched the storm as I might have watched the approach and passing of a fierce and beautiful animal.

A wise man. He told me once every falling leaf comes to rest where it was always meant to.

the good smell of wood smoke, a scent comforting and welcoming, the essence, it had always seemed to me, of where the human experience and the wilderness met.

The snowmobiles were out in force on Iron Lake, zipping about the ice like ants frenzying on a frosted cake. In summer it was motorboats and Jet Skis and sailboats. No matter what the season the lake had little peace.

Quello che voglio dire, Odie, è che nessuno nasce cattivo. La vita ti deforma in maniera terribile.

I'm just saying, Odie, that nobody's born mean. Life warps you in terrible ways.

I could hear the pop of bed linen snapping in the wind.

A morel, tastiest mushroom there is. Been a long while since I went hunting morels. Here," he said to me. "Take this and go see if you can find any more along the river.

what I was wondering was how it is that you're able to capture on film the soul of nature." 'The soul of nature?" Willy laughed easily, as if genuinely and pleasantly surprised. "The spirit of the Great Mystery is how I think of it. It's something we can't name or even comprehend. We can only allow ourselves to be a part of it and, in that way, know it.

I think Kitchimanidoo is not the Creator but the possibility of creation, all creation, good and bad.

They're birds whose songs never fade.

William Kent Krueger

TRADITIONALLY THE ANISHINAABE were a quiet people. Before the whites came, they lived in the silence of great woods and more often than not, the voices they heard were not human. The wind spoke. The water sang. All sound had purpose. When an Anishinaabe approached the wigwam of another, he respectfully made noise to announce his coming. Thunder, therefore, was the respectful way of the storm in announcing its approach. Spirit and purpose in all things. For all creation, respect.

a loss of the connection with the Great Mystery, the spirit that ran through all creation and united all things. Those men, Stephen understood, were