Save Oaken Wood: Of pathogens & greenfinches

The wind in the Poplar tree to me, is an unrivalled joy and yet.... I forget that I too, am part of this unspeakable beauty, that once-upon-a-time was defined as ‘nature’.

Maybe, this illusion of being separate from this 'otherworld', is because I happen to possess a fragile membrane called skin, that cradles blood and bone, memories and dreams; a tissue-thin perception that I am ‘me’ and woodland is ‘other’... but in this archetypal construct of polarity, I forget that my breath is the wind in the poplars, my bones are ant exoskeletons, my thoughts are the secret conversations between 300 year old chestnut stools and the fungal network in the warm, dark depths of ancient soil and sung to the sky by green birds who alight upon their canopies.

As a complex and sentient being, I have the privilege of being able to 'look skywards' towards the bigger picture and likewise, to focus on the 'minutiae', but I can also listen to that 'still, small voice' that resides in each and every one of us, if I give it the time and the space. It’s my voice that has its own meaning and its own song, as unique as any greenfinch.

Six years on, as we now retreat, not from unseen pathogens, but from the harsh unrelenting heat and parched verges into the cool, verdant and tranquil crisscrossed paths in Oaken Wood, my prayer...if ever I could pray.. is that for those who care not for ants, fungus, gorse, ancient soil, trees... or Greenfinches... they would develop an emergent understanding of the unique nature of their 'selves', which would ultimately give them insight into the equally unique nature of others with whom they share their lives and indeed, their world and maybe they would not feel the need to tear it all down.

I once wrote in poetry form, a plea to all that 'has being', whether expressed as stone, leaf, lung, gill, or even a dangerously beautiful and nebulous suspension of pathogens... Let's not 'visit' nature, but let's discover her, under our ‘skin'.