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Leena Wilde Ryan hadn't written anything she felt proud of in years. An old life burned down and a new life still rooting, words seemed held hostage by questions of their worth in...
“Thrashers and cardinals dart / through the brush, through / the season.”
I walk my dogs along the Potomac River most evenings. My route has become second nature, the curve of the path, the movement of the river, the parts of the walk I know by heart. Of...
Poetry and documentary can work at cross purposes. On the surface, Sasha Waters’ “Mary Oliver: Saved By The Beauty Of The World” is a straightforward, biographical account of its s...
This essay and poem are part of the Universe in Verse book. Trees grant us some of the richest metaphors for our own lives — a polished lens on the quality of attention we pay the...
The words “poet” and “bestselling” do not often go together. But they apply in the case of Mary Oliver, the Pulitzer Prize winner who gained a legion of fans – including the famous...
In late November I first snowshoed our woodland trails to include the little balsam that I lit to honor all evergreens throughout the winter months. Every day when my little dog an...
"Come with me. I'll teach you the flowers and the stars."
I keep a Wood Thrush in my purse;an embroidered patch,the size of two quarters,affixed to a worn ID card.My little supporterof migratory life. There’s no doubt I heard Wood Thrusha...
I’ve been eating catkins to try and see what new life might taste like dusty pollen The post Poem: [catkins] appeared first on The Oxford Student.
Sometimes I describe my work and writing as “a love song to the Ozarks.” I am deeply embedded, body and soul, in this land that I come from, my bloodland, the place where I belong....
The sister of the moon, we discovered, was the loch: And it uncovered as I tumbled in The white oil, found in my ears, which drips Onto the flayed tongue. The anger Which lives i...
the sunset burns orange, deep pink, soft lilac, and your skin is rough against my fingers where I cradle what remains of you, sand eater, and breathe in this rich salt air– the tho...
“In this world of endless disjunctions and conjunctions, / you struggle to parse the zigzag flight of a butterfly.”
Hiking through mud, thick and slippery, puts a damper on anyone’s enthusiasm. Such was the case for my intern and me on a humid summer morning, making our way to our first Western....
"If you would learn the secrets of Nature, you must practice more humanity than others."
“Split the Lark — and You’ll find the Music, ” Emily Dickinson taunted the materialists, “Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?” In the wake of On the Origin of Species, the p...
“Old Saint Peabody Peabody Peabody” sings the White-throated Sparrow. My song of the summer – notes that summon vacation at will.
Perhaps for no poet did the rose serve as a more powerful motif than Rainer Maria Rilke. As he lay dying in 1926, he composed the epitaph which was later inscribed on his graveston...
“They do not sweat and whine about their condition,” Walt Whitman wrote of the other animals, “they do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, they do not make me sick d...
This essay was originally published as the cover story in the Summer 2025 issue of Orion Magazine. “Who are you?” the caterpillar barks at Alice from atop the giant mushroom, and A...
“The blackfly breeds in streams & rivers / during the dog days of summer, / but cannot survive on sadness like the housefly.”
“The owls weren’t in distress, although / I thought they sounded like it.”
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