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In the summer we got word that the county forestland near our northern-Wisconsin home would be clear-cut. “Not my favorite pines,” I said, hoping. But, yes, those were the ones.
By Marie GreenstoneApril 2018I was reading a poem by Ryōkan about a leaf, and how it showed the front and the back as it fell, and I wanted to call someone — my wife, my brother — to tell about the poem.
By David RutschmanOctober 2017I was so in love: I listened to his messages on my answering machine again and again, mooned over every tan Nissan that looked like his, carried breath spray in my pocket, left notes in his shoes.
By Ellery AkersSeptember 2016We need to send into space a flurry of artists and naturalists, photographers and painters, who will turn the mirror upon ourselves and show us Earth as a single planet, a single organism that’s buoyant, fragile, blooming, buzzing, full of spectacles, full of fascinating human beings, something to cherish. Learning our full address may not end all wars, but it will enrich our sense of wonder and pride.
By Diane AckermanJune 2016June 2016For 99 percent of the time we’ve been on Earth, we were hunters and gatherers, our lives dependent on knowing the fine, small details of our world. Deep inside, we still have a longing to be reconnected with the nature that shaped our imagination, our language, our song and dance, our sense of the divine.
Janine Benyus
A mountain of sand, a game of cops and robbers, a pod of humpback whales
By Our ReadersMay 2016Often I wonder: / Is the earth trying to get / rid of us, shake us off, / drown us, scorch us / to nothingness?
By John BrehmApril 2016When you use a living medicine and get well, you feel that the world is alive and aware and wants to help you. People often talk about saving the Earth, but how many times have you experienced the Earth saving you?
By Akshay AhujaDecember 2014I stayed two days close to the bodies of the giants, and there were no trippers, no chattering troupes with cameras. There’s a cathedral hush here. Perhaps the thick soft bark absorbs sound and creates a silence. The trees rise straight up to zenith; there is no horizon.
By John SteinbeckSeptember 2014Childhood, the first eternity, / as I wandered our vast acre, / trying to escape the sun.
By Lee RossiMarch 2014Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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