Sublime

Bennett’s musings have an ethical component: if a nuisance tree, or a dead tree, or a dead rat is my kin, then everything is kin—even a piece of trash. And I’m more likely to value things that are kindred to me, seeing them as notable and worthy in themselves

we have a responsibility to live respectfully for our children seven generations into the future.

Many trees in North America are adapted to natural cycles of ground fires.

The ones with ink on their hands, paint on their faces, mosses in their hair, shirts on sideways because they have been awake all night in the thrall of a new idea. This is where the art of earth-saving lies. We are creating a new story—one of vitality, conviviality, feralness (escape!), wildness, nonduality, interconnectedness, generosity, sensual

trees and humans, at war over the land and water and atmosphere. And she can hear, louder than the quaking leaves, which side will lose by winning.

The less integrated the tree is in a community of its own species, the greater the danger.

It is in being with a particular forest that we come to understand its singularity, what it needs to flourish and thrive—and it is how, in interbeing, we ourselves come to flourish and thrive in response.

Nature is slowly winding down, and animals are beginning their migrations. The tractors and combine harvesters are out in full force, gathering the crops of onions, turnips and cereals. The fallow deer are beginning to come together in larger herds for the winter – all are making preparations for the colder months. Our ancestors did as much as they