In the past few days, we’ve moved through three different redwood forests — each one a distinct organism, a distinct being, with its own spirit and song.
Thank you for sharing this. I read it slowly, and it felt like being there with you in those majestic forests. Somewhere soft and sacred, where grief and wonder sit side by side. I've missed those elder nations ever since we first met. I’m so looking forward to being back in their ancient embrace before too long.
The image of the redwoods, their shallow but wide roots holding one another, really touched me. How deeply we need to lean into each other, and how, when we die our thousand deaths with courage, acceptance, and humility, we become the vital ground for what comes next.
I feel your love, and your losses, woven so tenderly through your words. It’s beautiful how you are letting the forest hold you, shape you, change you.
It brought to mind a short poem I shared recently about trees. I’ll link it here, in case it speaks to something in you too:
Reading your reflections, I kept hearing Bayo Akomolafe’s words echoing, as they so often do: “The times are urgent, let us slow down.” Thank you for living into that invitation.
And thank you, too, for honouring the people of that land and for walking with such care. There is something steadying about your way of noticing and naming what matters.
I’ll carry your invitation with me. To sit, to listen, to let the old ones speak in their slow and sacred tongue.
Thank you for sharing this. I read it slowly, and it felt like being there with you in those majestic forests. Somewhere soft and sacred, where grief and wonder sit side by side. I've missed those elder nations ever since we first met. I’m so looking forward to being back in their ancient embrace before too long.
The image of the redwoods, their shallow but wide roots holding one another, really touched me. How deeply we need to lean into each other, and how, when we die our thousand deaths with courage, acceptance, and humility, we become the vital ground for what comes next.
I feel your love, and your losses, woven so tenderly through your words. It’s beautiful how you are letting the forest hold you, shape you, change you.
It brought to mind a short poem I shared recently about trees. I’ll link it here, in case it speaks to something in you too:
https://open.substack.com/pub/hearthwoven/p/trees-speak-to-me?r=1qlgdj&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=false
Reading your reflections, I kept hearing Bayo Akomolafe’s words echoing, as they so often do: “The times are urgent, let us slow down.” Thank you for living into that invitation.
And thank you, too, for honouring the people of that land and for walking with such care. There is something steadying about your way of noticing and naming what matters.
I’ll carry your invitation with me. To sit, to listen, to let the old ones speak in their slow and sacred tongue.
Rooting for you,
Tei
This brought me to tears and touched my heart...I only visited the redwoods once, but I felt at home there like never before. Thank you...
The trees have so much wisdom to impart if only we have eyes to see, ears to hear and a heart to understand.💕