Sara Wright

After the Crowning by Sara Wright

Emerald and lime
chartreuse lemon
burgundy
burnt umber
leafy green
breath
transformer
palms and
needles
raining light
magic bean
spirals skyward
star gazing
ferns feather
paths
pearls
at my feet
wild lilies
woodland
valley brook
scarlet
roots
hug
weeping
fruit trees
conversing
underground
pollinated
rose petals
nourish
moist earth
each tear
slips away
bowed
deep
gratitude, a
grieving moment
a thousand
bees hum
as One.
This cycle
ends even
as
another
has begun.

Mayflower Crowning by Sara Wright

I sit under the snowy crabapple as fragile flower petals drift one by one to the ground, covering my hair in white butterflies, soon to become the first mulch of the year. Our Lady is always nourishing new life…

The hum of a thousand bees is deafening – bumblebees – glorious golden rotund bodies swarming from one tree to another with so many relatives – everyone seeking sweet nectar.

The scent is beyond description – intoxicating – a poignant perfume lasting only a few days and keeping me rooted to my bench every single morning to soak in the sweetness under impossible heat. Heavily polluted air is thick and metallic but here I inhale a plethora of fragrances so intense they drown out poisoned air.

Refuge by Sara Wright

Refuge is a place I go to be with other forests. A blessed place…even when I have a dog that is dying. Two free writes from the field where Nature is Queen of May and June…

Deep Time, Big Dream by Sara Wright

I am standing on top of a mountain looking over a landscape of unspeakable wild natural beauty that stretches as far as I can see. This is the ‘long view’ the dream -maker tells me. The trees are stretching out their lush green needles to the sky as if in prayer, and they are whole. The forests, clear waters, the animals, birds, insects, and All of Nature has been returned to a State of Grace.

An Old red skinned Indian Man appears. He is a Grandfather. He is on the mountain with me but also stands below (both and). He speaks to me.

“Sit, listen, this is the Song of Life”.

A finely crafted flowing red clay seat appears below (it flows like a wave) although it is situated a few inches above the earth. Almost hovering. I also see a drum made from deerskin and red clay on the ground. There is a four directional equilateral black cross on the skin of the drum. The cross is thick and around the cross an intricate design is etched/inked into its skin also highlighted in black.

May Day by Sara Wright

To Death in Spring

‘Experts’
told me

you would
not rise

too old
they said

abandoned
purple and rose

The Circle of Giving and Receiving by Sara Wright

Yesterday my Vet and I created our version of the Indigenous Tewa Seed Ceremony, something I have not done since living in New Mexico (except to honor the Seed Moon). We didn’t plan to make an exchange of plants and seeds on earth day because neither of us believe or thought about it – (either do Indigenous peoples) – every day is earth day – so it just ‘happened’ on the day before the Seed Moon becomes full.

After giving Gary a very special heirloom scarlet runner bean sprout of mine (and seeds) along with the rest of ‘his’ plants that I had been nurturing for months, we also split up a sedum to share, one that he had given me in the hospital last fall, closing another circle of giving and receiving.

It wasn’t until after we parted that I was struck by lightning. Visceral memories surfaced as I relived the Tewa Sacred Seed Ceremonies I had attended in NM, gradually coming to the realization that we had unwittingly participated in an ancient ceremonial exchange that may have originally extended back to Neolithic times.

‘Forget Me Not’ by Sara Wright

As if I could.

Almost three days of spring flooding seems so normal now that I expect it. Hard to believe it’s only been raining like this for less than a year. A warming climate creates torrential rain, three to five feet of snow at once, wildly fluctuating temperature shifts and who knows what else. After all, this is just the beginning. The end is out of sight.

One robin awakened me this morning with a symphony and kept up his chorale for an hour. It was still raining then but robin warbled on, harbinger of spring.

Today was the day I promised myself I’d tackle the cellar, now flooded even with a sump pump that runs around the clock. Our poor patch of northern earth is just too saturated.

Embrace Fearlessly this Burning World by Sara Wright

“Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity”.
Barry Lopez

The older I get the more I realize that being able to pay attention is the greatest gift especially in what Lopez calls ‘this burning world’.

Every day there is an opportunity to engage with some aspect of the rest of nature, no matter how despondent I might feel. Because early spring is a difficult time for me, I try to discipline myself to open nature’s door daily because it is in these timeless moments, I get caught by the ephemeral Now.

Last week before the storm that would later drop another two feet of snow at my door I decided to visit and feed the two geese thinking that they might appreciate extra food. I also had a nagging sense they might be calling me.

Goddess in a Twig by Sara Wright

In 2024, science seems to be catching up with reality. “A rapid succession of peer-reviewed studies and reports all point to a single unambiguous conclusion: that Canada’s unqualified claims of ‘sustainable forest management’ belie a reality of widespread forest degradation”.

Almost 36 million acres of forests have been clear cut in Quebec and Ontario alone. Canada still has six percent of old growth forests left but clear cuts almost exclusively. Maine has one tenth of a percent of old forests remaining but says it maintains a few limits on clear cuts (the research is ambiguous and around me we have mostly clear-cut mountains, so I am deeply suspicious).

Why should we care?

A new crop of trees will be moving north into Canada along with the rest of the migrants (birds, animals, understory/woodland plants) because of a warming climate and loss of habitat. Too many people.

Saving the Mother Trees by Sara Wright

I am submitting this essay on March 25^th, the original Mother’s Day according to some pre – Christian mythology. It seems important to be writing about the ‘Old’ Trees of Life, today, of all days.

Sixty years ago, Suzanne Simard intuited that the trees in the forests that she and her family logged (with horses) were all connected and operated as a complex cooperative living organism. Trees, understory plants, flowers, insects, animals, fish, and fungi were all parts of one integrated whole.

Suzanne was a trailblazer, one of the first females to graduate from the University of British Columbia as a forester. Her first job seemed daunting. It was up to Suzanne to determine why some newly planted tree seedlings kept dying.