Forest Gifts and This Worldly Grace

by Sue Fulmore

FOREST GIFTS

I stand under a canopy of blue

amongst aspens a-quivering in the breeze.

I come in search of the gifts

the forest offers.

I think about the trees

and their shared subterranean fungal networks.

Unseen connections

supporting and nourishing life for all.

I wonder at the white coral fungus —

Clavulina caroloides—

a gift tucked under leaves

born out of death.

Attention becomes my devotion,

cares recede.

A chickadee happily chirps

on a branch overhead,

pleased with today’s provision.

“Me too,” I say.

THIS WORLDLY GRACE

There is a spider’s web hanging below the bird feeder. I notice the sparkle out of the corner of my eye—the sun catching the carefully spun threads. I am not fond of spiders, but I do love their intricate and delicate creations. How do they measure the distance between the threads so that it is uniform—an engineer’s delight?

Hummingbirds have been visiting the delphiniums this past week. Each day I watch their tiny iridescent forms hover over the brilliant blue blooms. Their bodies, the size of my pinky finger, house a heart that beats up to 1,260 times per minute, and because of their unique wing structure, have the ability to rotate their wings in a figure-8 pattern, allowing them to hover and fly in all directions. They live only in the Americas, a unique endowment for my side of the world. They are also solitary migrants, winging their way over thousands of miles without the company of a flock like the Canada geese I watch come and go. I wonder at the internal GPS systems these tiny creatures have built right in.

I neglected to put out the feeder for the hummingbirds, so did not expect to catch a glimpse of them this year, and yet, they came to my garden anyway. As I stood in the kitchen gazing out the garden doors, one flew right up to the door and looked in the window at me. These visitations are a pure gift. My desire, though unexpressed, was fulfilled. This, to me, is an arrow pointing to the God who sees. Amy Baik Lee writes, “Keeping a record of the constant flow of beauties I encounter, in all their detail and flavor and color is an experience of reading a love so immoderate that the life it nourished cannot help but overflow.”

At a friend’s house in a quiet bay, I watch transparent jellyfish dance in the water. They are like ghosts haunting the water—a seaside ballet. Their pulsating swim is elegant and almost like a heartbeat or the rhythm of breath, in and out, in and out. Tiny tentacles line the outer edge of their bell-shaped bodies, like a lace skirt that twirls with their movements. I learn that 95% of a jellyfish’s gelatinous body is made of water—the very stuff they swim in. The time I spend watching them barely registers, but my busy brain is calm for these minutes, and I am drawn into wonder.

I think too how closely we humans are related to the ground on which we walk. In The Invisible Embrace, John O’Donohue writes, “When we go out among nature, clay is returning to clay.” Perhaps this explains our affinity to the natural world—how, when standing barefoot in the grass or amongst leafy giants, we breathe a little more freely, and begin to believe that wise old mystic, Julian of Norwich, when she said that “all shall be well.”

I find truth in these words from O’Donohue: “The beauty of nature is often the wisest balm for it gently relieves and releases the caged mind.”

In every stage of life there seems to be much that we are required to release. A constant prying open of our hands gripping for control over children, finances, health, the behavior of others, and our reputation. Nature and her seasons remind me how natural and good it is to let go—to trust. When my mind is consumed with figuring it all out, I know I can return to a patch of ground or a stand of trees and find myself soothed.

The geese are flying overhead and draw my eyes upward, moving my thoughts from the worries of today to beauty and the dependable rhythms of nature. I am reminded of all that is steady and true.

SUE FULMORE

Sue Fulmore is a writer and speaker seeking to live an examined life. She pursues beauty on the regular, believing it soothes and sustains, and points us toward the Creator. She seeks to point others to a more examined life and a deeper connection to God through her writing.

You can find her at on Instagram @suefulmore and on Substack at A Capacity for Wings.

Sue is co-author of the book A Writer’s Refuge: Prayers, Blessings, and Encouragement for the Writer's Heart.