One of our neighbours in Auckland is a Korean Buddhist temple. The two female monks working there speaks little english. I speak no Korean. We communicate through food.
Mother trees colonize their kin with bigger mycorrhizal networks. They send them more carbon below ground. They even reduce their own root competition to make elbow room for their kids. When Mother Trees are injured or dying, they also send messages of wisdom on to the next generation of seedlings.
Like a bird that has escaped from a snare. It won’t itself be caught again. A Maori saying applied to a man who had escaped from general slaughter in a war situation. Today this saying could well be used for someone who resists being trapped by the snare of consumerism.
Untouched by the city's bustle and the traffic's heavy noise,
On a hill in the middle of the noise are the strangest joys.
Silence, missing from our life, exaggerates today's demands,
Here, where mother nature opens her house for rich and poor.