I am thankful for a each sunset.

Every time I see one, I am reminded that the end of the day is near and rest is close at hand.

The colors soothe my soul, and the arrangement of the clouds playing peek-a-boo in between the rays of fading sunlight make me catch my breath every time I see them.

God is truly revealed in nature, and I am always in awe of His creativity and beauty.

The recent announcement by Brazil – one of the world’s top emitters of greenhouse gases from deforestation – that it is adopting new emissions reduction targets could help steer negotiators in Copenhagen toward a stronger climate change deal.

Brazil’s top environment ministers said late last week the country is committing to an emission reduction target of between 36.1 and 38.9 percent by 2020. Brazil announced those figures only a day after saying new data showed the lowest deforestation rates in the Amazon in the past 21 years.

The new commitment can help unblock and steer climate negotiations toward a new global agreement in Copenhagen, which will be considered next month, said WWF-Brazil CEO Denise Hamú.

“As Brazil announces these figures, it moves from a situation where it merely holds developed countries to account to a situation where it can be a role model in the establishment of a new low-carbon development model for the world,” Hamú said.

“It should be noted, however, that the data needs to be more detailed,” she said. “We are not sure which baseline scenario was used, that is, how the Brazilian government estimated Brazil’s emission growth trends by the end of the next decade. Neither do we know how we will reach those targets.”

“No detailed information is available on all actions across the various industries and on our low-carbon plan of action. It is fundamental that all government policies be consistent with the announcement made today,” Hamú said.

As far as international climate negotiations are concerned, Brazil now has a more legitimate case to demand a clearer financial support commitment from the developed nations for the establishment of adequate actions to adapt to the effects of global warming, according to WWF.

Data released by the Brazilian government earlier this month showed that the deforestation rate in the Amazon fell between August 2008 and July 2009. Overall, the deforested region is a 45 percent smaller than Amazon land cleared the previous year, or between August 2007 and July 2008.

This is the lowest rate of deforestation in the Amazon since record-keeping began in 2000, and down from a high of more than 27,000 square kms in 2004.

However, deforestation also must be reduced in other damaged forest areas in Brazil, such as in the Cerrado, according to WWF:

Despite conservation efforts, global deforestation continues at an alarming rate – 13 million hectares per year, or 36 football fields a minute. It generates almost 20 per cent of global greenhouse gas emissions and halting forest loss has been identified as one of the most cost-effective ways to keep the world out of the danger zone of runaway climate change.

Early on my academic career, I started doing fieldwork, studying river breakup in the NWT.  In Fort Providence, NWT to be exact.  Fort Providence is a fairly small community of just a few hundred people and, at that time, it had just one general store, two restaurants (one in the gas bar), and only one decent hotel.  Everyone in town had the middle name ‘the’.  There was Bill the cop (the resident RCMP officer), Mary the Nurse, Ann the Teacher…  you get the idea.   

Confusion arose at the restaurant one day, when the phone rang and a cordless unit was taken over to a patron at a nearby table.  She talked for a minute, then brought it over to me.  “I think this is for you,” she said, explaining,  “I’m Fay the Librarian.”  I thanked her as I took the phone, though I couldn’t imagine who’d be calling me.  Everyone I knew in town was sitting at the table with me. 

I put the phone to my ear.  “Hullo?”

“You Faye the Ice Lady?” a brusque male voice asked.

“Er, yes, I guess you could say that,”  I replied.

“Well, I thought you like to know, I’m up here by the ferry crossing and the river’s all breaking and moving up here.”

“Oh! Yes I would like to know!” I waved to my companions and started to pull on my coat.  “Thanks very much…”

“Yep,” he hung up.   I never did find out who it was. 

Hodgkins

As we went about our work along the river day after day, week after week, we couldn’t help but notice that  a pack of fighting dogs was developing in the parking lot in front of the hotel office, and growing in size at an astonishing rate.  Something there was really attracting them, especially one little waif.  He looked like a small husky cross of some sort, about half the size of the rest of the dogs in town, and almost pure white.  Well, a very dirty white.  He had short hair, perky ears, and a big, bushy, curly tail.  I eventually ran into the hotel owner, Lois, in the parking lot one day and got a chance to ask her what was going on.  I was particularly interested in the little guy, since he seemed to be camped out on the step and they’d even put a little mat out for him to lie on.

“Oh, it’s our miniature daschund, Betts,” she explained.  “She’s in heat.”  These folks were the only people in town who didn’t have huskies, or husky crosses.  They had five purebreds of different types, the largest being an Irish Wolfhound, and the smallest being this little miniature daschund.  “Little Whitey there, that’s what I’ve been calling him, has been taking a beating from the other dogs.  I felt so bad for him that I brought him in one day, but he peed on the floor and Ted made me put him right back out.”  Ted was her husband, and obviously not as sympathetic to Whitey as she was.  “I put the little mat out for him, but Ted won’t let me feed him – figures we’ll never get rid of him if we do that.”

“What’s he eating then?”  I asked.

“Probably garbage – that’s what most of these strays live on.  They call them ‘garbage dogs’ actually, because of that,” she said.

That same day we started feeding “Whitey” out behind the hotel – taking great care not to be spotted by Ted or Lois.  Things went along fine for about a week, then I ran into Lois again. 

“Looks like time’s up for little Whitey there – so sad,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Ted’s had it with the dog pack, he’s complained to the council.  Shooting day’s tomorrow.”

“Shooting day?”

“Dog control.  Everyone ties up their dogs – any dog still loose is shot as a stray.”

“You’re sure no one owns him?”

“Nope, I’m pretty sure he’s the only stray around right now.  We recognized all the others and Ted’s already been around to complain to the owners.  You notice the bigger dogs haven’t been around for a couple of days?”   I nodded.  “They’ve agreed to keep them tied up until Bett’s no longer in heat.”

“So what’s gonna happen to this little guy?” I asked.  I couldn’t claim that I had befriended him – he was pretty timid, and though he’d been very gentle eating out of my hand, he wouldn’t let me pet him at all.  Still, I felt sorry for him.

Lois looked at me as if to say, “do I really have to spell it out for you?”

“Oh, no,”  I said.  “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“Unless someone claims him, not really,”  she said.  “And we both know that’s not going to happen.”

“Ya,”  I agreed, thinking.  “Listen, what if I was to agree to adopt him.  Could you help me out?”

She brightened at this.  “I could take him inside for the day tomorrow,”  she said.  “Ted would let me do that if he knew you were taking him.”

“Perfect,”  I said.  “Okay, let me talk to my husband and get back to you.”   Then I paused. “Crap, I’ve got no way to get him back home.  I don’t suppose there is any place in town to buy a dog kennel?”

“Nope,”  Lois said, “but we’ve got one you could use. You could just ship it back to us after.”

“Really?  That would be great!”  I said.

“No problem,”  Lois smiled.  “I’m really happy he’s going to dodge the bullet.”

—

Hodgy's first bath

So it was that this little dog came to live with us; he lived with us for the next 15 years, in fact.  He left Fort Providence on a little Cessna plane with my student and technician – a few days later on our shift change, landed on a road, was transferred to a pickup truck and driven two hours to Hay River.  He then caught a commercial flight for the rest of the trip.   My husband, Les, met him at the airport.  

“He’s really good at sticking around,”  I’d told Les on the phone, not thinking that this was unlikely to be the case at our place, unless Les had adopted a female dog in heat while I was away. 

Les got him home, opened the door to the kennel and the little guy was off like a shot.  “He was running due north back to the NWT the second I opened the door,” Les complained to me later on the phone.  “I had to run like hell to catch him!”

But Les did catch him – that day, and many days after that.  This little guy loved to go run-about.  He especially loved to roam around the neighbourhood, mooching snacks door to door.  We have some neighbours who are real animal lovers; they’d feed him, them sneak him back to our place in the hopes we wouldn’t know he’d be gone and thus save him a scolding.  We eventually had to fence the yard to keep him from running the roads. 

Hodgy and his best friend Sasha

We named him Hodgkins, after the eccentric Mrs. Pumphrey’s poor gardener, chauffer, and general dog’s body in James Herriot’s books.  Hodgkins was of the unfortunate, sort of a second class citizen, just like this poor little dog had been.  The difference was, our Hodgkins escaped his class and became a prince.

Hodgy was unique in so many ways.  He hunted mice like a fox, he ate berries like a bear, he raided my garden like a goat.  He especially loved peas – pods, vines, everything!  He would eat entire pea plants right down to little nubs.  He hated to get his feet wet – if the porch was wet when we opened the door for him, he would creep carefully along the edge, touching only the 8 inch wide dry portion under the eaves.  Hodgy did not like to be led by the collar – if we tried he would let out an ear-piercing piggy like squeal that was sufficient to bring doggy social services running.  Yet, Hodgy rarely barked.  In fact one night we were awoken to the sound of a strange dog barking – from inside our house!  It was the first time he’d ever barked – and we’d had him for years.  He been spooked by the bread machine, set on a timer to start kneading the bread at 3 am. 

One year after adopting Hodgy, I was back in Fort Providence for breakup.  Enjoying a pint one evening in the local bar, just minding my own business, I was accosted by a holler from across the room.  “Hey, aren’t you the idiot that took that garbage dog home last year?” 

Not keen to agree to the ‘idiot’ descriptor, I pretended not to hear.  But my technician, sitting beside me, hollered back, “yup!  This is her!”

“Thanks a lot,”   I muttered, elbowing him in the ribs.

From across the room, my assailant bellowed, “he’ll never amount to anything you know!”

I was crushed; until then I’d hoped Hodgy would go to university and become a doctor or an astrophyisicist.

'Garbage dog' turned prince of the palace

One person I did look forward to seeing upon my arrival was Lois.  I’d brought pictures of little “Whitey”, so that I could show her how well he was doing.  But as I’d turned my truck into the hotel parking lot my first day back, I’d seen the little daschund, Betts, happily trotting along with a homely little brown dog of questionable breed in tow.  He mostly looked like her, though he was lighter in color and sported a huge bushy, curly tail.  Ted was behind Lois at the counter when I checked in and she didn’t mention Whitey at all.  In fact, she never once asked about Whitey during that whole trip and I never brought it up either, fearing we’d get into the paternity of that homely little fellow hanging out with Betts.  After all, I’d never get away with bringing Les a second garbage dog from Fort Providence!

© Faye Hicks, 2009

As winter nears,  this leaf battered and torn having fulfilled its role of the season, now rest on a lower branch holding on to fly for one more glorious day.

Full Glory

       We’ve been to the historical town of Weston, Missouri before, and as all small quaint towns go, the people are extremely friendly.  They have antique stores like every 50 feet here. lol.  Today, we browsed one and I was so happy to have found more doll home furniture fodder for a reasonable price.   Well, we also met a victorian Santa, ate at Charlemane’s restaurant which is a german style buffet (on Sundays) I thought it was so funny how Doug kept saying over and over that he didn’t wanna eat in town, but as soon as we hit the door of the place and that home cooking smell met him, he got his grub on.  2 plates full, plus dessert.  enjoy the pictures.

because we surely enjoyed the day there.

        * a portion of the main street*

*I love how the sky reflected off these windows.

*home “grown” charm?*

*despite the glare, i had to take a picture of  “window dawg”  a sweet little dog that sat in a window of a store that wasn’t open.  Yes, please refrain from singing…how much is that doggy in the window?” I don’t think he was for sale. lol.

*will the real santa claus please stand up?”

*this guy made my day,  a victorian Santa claus was sooo authentic looking and kewl.

* He told us, he has been portraying Santa claus for 23 years!  Sometimes as Santa, and sometimes as the Victorian Santa.

*One of the little “friends” we met for sale in an antique shop.  Only 65.00 dollars!*

*or you could play tea party with this lovely wicker table and china.

*battered 70 year old baybeees for sale.  Only 60.oo…. as is.

*we took in plenty of landscaping, eyes focused on this forlorn bare tree in the middle of a corn field. 

*hay rolled up for the winter*

* and a once gallant hard working truck, abandoned to fate.

Final Exit

What Would You Do on Planet Titanic?

Greenland is melting. Before we know it, sea levels will rise dramatically, swamping whole islands, towns, and cities around the world. It is vast. Think of it as a nearly two-million square kilometer iceberg just waiting to strike. We are all on a sinking Planet Titanic.

Some of us are rushing for the lifeboats, some of us a trying to plug the holes, some of us are doing whatever we can to deny the reality, and some of us are facing the likelihood that no matter what we do it’s all too late, anyway. In that case, the best we can do, like a terminal cancer patient, is to be grateful for each remaining moment we have and choose to live it with joy, compassion, and gratitude.

I recently had a long conversation with my good friend Peter Russell (author of Waking Up in Time) who has been closely tracking the details of climate change for many years. I asked him:

“We’re living on a knife edge, in times of great uncertainty. One way lies systemic collapse into ecological disaster. The other (perhaps involving some degree of the first) is a path to collective waking up and the transformation of our species. Which side do you lean to when you wake up in the morning?”

His response stunned me:

“Without a doubt, I see us falling into total systemic collapse.”

I probed a little deeper, and he revealed he didn’t just mean some temporary setback for civilization, but the inevitable extinction of our species—within a few generations! Involving, of course, the great extinction of vast numbers of other species.

I questioned him more, and he talked about how, within 100 to 150 years, climate change will be so rapid and so vast that a band of desolation and desert will circle the planet, with only small regions remaining hospitable for life in places like northern Europe, Alaska,  parts of Canada and Antarctica . . . He thinks that all mammalian species will be wiped out, and perhaps most reptiles and amphibians. Possibly only plants and insects will survive.

I had never encountered such a bleak scenario based on what I understand to be a clear reading of the available data. It overshadows even the most pessimistic scenarios I’ve heard elsewhere. Worse, this may not be a reversible process. It’s not as if the Earth will quickly spring back to life, and the deserts will bloom once again. No, in this scenario, we are already in the early stages of human-induced climate change that will turn our beautiful globe into a planetary desert for many millions of years. And, if all the water boils off, it could even be permanent. It happened on Mars.

(The Mars scenario is only one, extreme, possibility. Over millions of years, the planet may well recover. A similar hot-house period occurred on Earth in the Eocene, 34 to 55 million years ago. However, even if the deserts do bloom again, the chances of humans surviving the furnace are highly unlikely.)

We are living through the end days of our species, and for all practical purposes, the end of life on Earth. Sobering.

What Would You Do?
Given this, what are we to do? What’s the point of spreading such a message of hopelessness?

Pete’s response: There is no point. There is nothing we can do now to change what is inevitably coming—very soon. He then told me how waking up to this reality has changed his life. For a time, he experienced the existential angst of despair and total hopelessness. And then his “ah-ha” moment struck:

“Yes, it is hopeless. But by letting go of all sense of hope, I discovered that I still had a choice: about how to live out my life knowing that it is all over for all of us. I choose to live with compassion and to savor every moment—just like some cancer patients do when the bad news finally sinks in.”

For a few brief moments, I let it in and I felt a deep wrenching sickness in my gut, a profound sorrow for our species and for the millions of other species we will take down with us. But within a few hours, my own denial defense mechanisms kicked in. I find I can no longer actually feel the total demise of our species. Intellectually, though, I know it is a strong possibility.

How would you live your life in the light of this knowledge?

What would you do (what are you doing) when we discover that our planetary Titanic is holed, and that we are rapidly and inevitably going down? Do you dance? Do you panic? Do you rush for the lifeboats (where are they?)? Do you pray (for what?)? Do you offer comfort and solace to your neighbors? Do you head for the bar and get mind-blowingly drunk? Do you stuff yourself with food from the cafeteria? Do you find the most beautiful partners and make passionate love? Do you heroically start giving swimming lessons (knowing they won’t help)? Do you jump overboard before the ship goes down (why?)?

What would you do?

Pete has decided that the most heroic response is for individual members of our species—better, for our species collectively—to immediately stop extracting any resources from the planet, so that, at the very least, we spend out last days minimizing our contribution to the acceleration of systemic collapse. Of course, this would mean not extracting food or water, and so our species would vanish very soon. In doing so, we may give a few more years, perhaps another generation or two, for other species to enjoy.

We might, for instance, leave the planet habitable for species that inhabit the oceans, who just might survive the ecological devastation that will sweep the land. However, as he pointed out, the oceans may be in an even more precarious predicament. “They may collapse first. Coral reefs are already dying fast and increased acidity of CO2  is making life very hard for the microscopic creatures at the base of the food chain. No plankton, no shrimp, no humpback whales.”

It’s hard to grasp, isn’t it?

Final Exit?
Perhaps ecological collapse is the fate of any planet when evolution produces a species with advanced intelligence coupled with the means to manipulate its environment to suit its own needs (e.g., an opposable thumb)—a fatal combination?

As Pete sees it, the one ray of “hope” in the face of dire hopelessness is an opportunity for a profound transformation in consciousness—along the lines envisioned by French philosopher and paleontologist Teilhard de Chardin and fictionalized in Arthur C. Clarke’s sci-fi novel Childhood’s End.

The pressure of breakdown either wipes out the species or pushes it to evolve. Planets, then, serve as seed pods for launching consciousness to higher levels of evolution.

At this point, though, such scenarios begin to sound like spiritual science fiction—the human mind’s ultimate creative response to the realization of radical hopelessness.

What else can we do?

The Big Surrender
Well, we can surrender. Perhaps that is the hidden gift of being shocked, of waking up to our predicament. All the world’s great spiritual traditions teach us about the power of surrender, of letting go and trusting in some greater intelligence or process beyond anything mere mortals can ever imagine.

When we do finally and fully surrender, we open up to the possibility of some unforeseen, unimaginable, event that transforms what seemed like a dire and hopeless situation into an opportunity for a new beginning. The great mystics call this entering the “dark night of the soul” before the dawn of spiritual enlightenment.

Today, we might be facing an unprecedented “dark night” of the collective soul. We may be called on to let go of attachment, not just to our petty personal needs and desires, but to the very survival of our species, and accept the impending “death” of our beautiful planet—the Big Surrender, followed, perhaps, by the Big Breakthrough. Perhaps.

Whatever lies ahead, one fact is inescapable: We are all in this together.

So what can we do? We can continue to live more and more lightly on the Earth, reducing our eco-footprint.

We also have a compelling opportunity to support each other, to relate with compassion, and to communicate authentically from the heart.

We can share our stories.

That is what has held societies together from time immemorial. And it is just as vital today.

* * *
This is one perspective—but I think it is worth paying attention to.
Do you?

* * *

I heard a thump and looked up to see a small gray bird drop outside my living room window. Hurrying outside, I scanned the area. Had it flown away? No, there was a dark-eyed junco lying on the ground. Fearing the worst, I crouched down to look more closely. The dark eye blinked. That was encouraging. However, the bird didn’t move, even when I gently touched its back. I went inside and found a box, placed an old tee shirt inside, and found my gloves. Perhaps I could call the Audubon Society if it needed help.

 Returning outside, I attempted to pick up the small bird. Feeling my touch, it hopped a few steps and then sank down again. I studied it for a minute, and it looked back at me. I reached out again. This time it fluttered up to the kitchen window, where it clung awkwardly to the screen. Was that foot hurt? It seemed to be sticking out at an odd angle. I waited. Finally the bird took off, flying gracefully over the house and beyond my sight. Yes! It was all right. I breathed a sigh of relief.

 I filled up the seed feeder and put out a new cake of suet. If that little guy returned, I wanted to make sure he would find something to eat. It was the least I could do.

Life is special, even in small gray packages.

The Nov./Dec. 2009 issue of Zoogoer Magazine is now online! Features interesting, in-depth articles on the culinary team that feeds the Zoo’s endangered species, Ostrichs, Mehgan Murphy’s beautiful photographs, and a How Do You Zoo? on wild animal veterinarian Carlos Sanchez–written by me! Of course it’s better in person but please peruse the issue online.

Creating these visual quilts it seems can becomes a little addictive.

]]> http://burndodge.wordpress.com/2009/11/22/rise-up/ Mon, 23 Nov 2009 02:06:43 +0000 disconnectionnotice http://burndodge.wordpress.com/2009/11/22/rise-up/

On setting out on a journey, Bashō wrote:

Tabibito to   waga na yobaren   hatsushigure
Traveler to my      name shall-be   first-winter-rain

“Traveler”
Shall be my name;
The first rain of winter.

If that last line looks a bit long in comparison to the others, that is because Japanese translated into English does not always take up the same relative amounts of space.  Old hokku were in a pattern of 5-7-5 phonetic units generally, but in spite of that they really fall into two parts.

We can see that in Bashō’s hokku:

“Traveler” shall be my name;
The first rain of winter.

We could write hokku that way — in two lines — but generally three lines are more aesthetically pleasing.

The setting of the hokku is the third line, “The first rain of winter.”  That is the context in which Bashō sets forth as a traveller.

We are are travelers through life — through time — but when one reads the life of Bashō, one has the feeling that he never realized the truth of the words of the Daodejing:

Without stepping outside one’s doors,
One can know what is happening in the world,
Without looking out of one’s windows,
One can see the Tao of heaven.

The farther one pursues knowledge,
The less one knows.
Therefore the Sage knows without running about,
Understands without seeing,
Accomplishes without doing.

(Lin Yutang translation)

In traveling one may accumulate knowledge, but knowledge is not the same as wisdom, not the same as insight.

David

Someone suggested this looked like it was taken from the point of view of the prey, and exuded a feeling of feral panic. Not exactly what I was aiming for, but it kinda fits. And feral panic just sounds cool, so we’ll go with that

Another lovely use of the Lensbaby, which I took out for a walk recently at a nature preserve in Danby. More to come!

The psychedelic purple bag is a small lunch bag sized version of the bigger totes. Can fit a yogurt, apple, juice box, sandwich box and maybe a carrot too. The bigger totes are all purpose grocery/papers and books/purse type bags.

For my first trip upon arriving to study abroad at Lancaster University, I travelled to the nearby Lake District.  This was one of my first experiences riding the famous double decker buses, which are quite commonplace in the United Kingdom.  It was also my first time experiencing the highway system in England and I must say I admire the bus drivers so much since they need to navigate a double-decker manual monster through incredibly curvy streets.  I have decided I would never be able to drive over here since if the driving on the left side of the street is not enough to throw me off, but their circle circles (here called round abouts) are present at every exit.  On the topic of vehicles, I did not go on a boat trip on the lake, but instead walked around the green fields.  This was back when the weather was cold but actually featured blue skies, something I sorely miss now in November.  Being in the English air, yet surrounded by a landscape so similar to the one I had left in the US was exhilarating.  That was the first time since my arrival some days earlier that I felt truly giddy to be in England.  I am still pleased that I was in the same villages that the Romantic writers lived in and even saw the tiny house where William Wordsworth wrote his poetry.  The Lake District would only be the beginning of my encounters with sites of historical and literary importance.

The title is an inside joke between me, my cousins, and my sister.

Gallery vol 1 !

Gallery vol 2!

Gallery vol 3!

Well I got out today and took a bunch of photos. Almost 900, in fact. Keep in mind I almost always use auto bracketing, so each photo is taken at three different exposures. So I actually took more like 300 or so. Anyway, with this photo I married three photos together to create this one, with a higher dynamic range. If you’re scratching your head wondering what it is, it’s a macro shot of a rotted tree trunk in a local ravine I spent the afternoon shooting in. I’ve got a bunch of them, so don’t be surprised to see another one or two turn up down the road. When I was done merging the three photo and tweaking contrast and such, I ended up with a 75 meg .tiff file, believe or not. Of course that dropped to just under 4 megs once I converted it to jpeg. And I’ve resized again prior to posting, so it’s not a mere 758K. This is at the Glen Manor Ravine, which is very close to my home. Anyway, I hope you like it. It’s a bit different for me.

Peering down at a birch tree

Pardon me, Mr. Tree.

Are you up for a discussion?

Have any advice for us humans?  Anything you want to share with us?  Any words of wisdom?

Peering up at a birch tree

Should we be looking up at the sky or down at the earth?  Optimistic?  Pessimistic?  Realistic?  Which direction should we look? 

Close up bark

Should we look up close?  Is the answer in the details or in the wider view?  What do you think?  Please don’t just stand there with your branches blowing in the wind.  Whisper some secrets.  Tell us the Secret of Life.  Please.

The language bark speaks

Ahhh,  so that’s the language you speak.  All the swirls and hieroglyphs.  Are we suppose to understand what you’re trying to say in your tree-ness?  What ancient Egyptian-like language are you speaking?  Do we need to get quieter, Mr. Tree?

Lean a little closer to read this message...

You are saying something, aren’t you?  Something deep.  Something profound.  Something miraculous.

What is it? 

Bear claws?

Oh, yes.  I hear you now.  You say to us, “You are barely scratching the surface”.

That is your message to us tonight.

We will go deeper tomorrow.  Look deeper. Look wider.  Keep our eyes wide open. 

Please continue to teach us with your bark and leaves and roots and seeds.  Help us to look beyond the surface.  Help us find our own tree-nature hidden beneath our feeble twig-language.  Help us learn to bend without breaking in strong winds, how to let go of our leaves when the time comes. 

Thank you, Mr. Tree.

from the BBC’s Weird Nature