Letters to the Earth

Under the hot sun, the inside of the chimney vent is still cool. Its black depths smell mysterious and cavelike, but there is no echo. She wishes that the whole garden would fall down into the earth, dropping past the Second World War and down to the Romans, who, she has heard on the radio, used potato leaves to commit suicide. These are close to hand, which feels like some sort of sign.

She writes again to the worms in her best green calligraphy, informing them of her loneliness and plan to die. She writes that when they or their families come across her body, she will be pleased to meet them and learn from them, for instance, how they swim through soil, eat the earth, and survive death by spade. She says she knows they are also strong and can be very fast, because she has seen them emerge after rain, making dangerous and mysterious journeys across pavements. So they are also brave.

She posts her last letter, picks a good handful of potato leaves, and lies down on the ground to listen for a response. After that, she will go to her room and eat them. But the worms have no comment. It is as if they have gone away, because there is a new and strange feeling of disconnection with the underworld. The idea comes to her that perhaps they have gone somewhere else; perhaps even worms can enjoy summer holidays, just not her. Perhaps they have travelled to investigate buried treasure – maybe a Roman hoard. Beneath the earth, they might be completely free.

She considers the idea of hidden treasure. It might be close by. She notices the ants clearing out sand from their holes, then bigger ants with white wings emerge, and take to the sky. There is a trembling feeling in the air, and clouds at last. She transfers her attention to the ants. There is a lot to observe and she forgets the leaves. That night there is a huge angry outburst in the sky. It is very pleasing.

Laline Paull

To the Earth,

For many years I had been fortunate to work with insects. They are some of the most beautiful creatures on earth. They are often so tiny that nature hides them. But I learned about the smallest of them through the lens of a microscope. I marvel that they can be so beautiful and yet so few people get to see them! What a privilege it was to work with them – years that felt more like playing than working …

And what strange a process that happened here on earth – the evolution of such diversity! And so extraordinarily intricate!

How is it then that we are letting these incredible life forms down? Selfishly for thousands of years we humans only saw our own importance and mastery. Now we have to wake up and at last see their importance and realise that their lives are also ours – humans cannot live without this diversity in nature.

Ottilie Neser

I love you, earth, you are beautiful

I love the way you are

I know I never said it to you

But I wanna say it now

I love you, I love you

I love you, earth

I love you, I love you

I love you now

I love you, earth, you are beautiful

I love the way you shine

I love your valleys, I love your mornings

In fact I love you everyday

I know I never said it to you

Why I’d never know

Over blue mountains, over green fields

I wanna scream about it now

I love you, I love you

I love you, earth

I love you, I love you

I love you now

You are our meeting point of infinity

You are our turning point in eternity

I love you, I love you

(I love you, I love you)

I love you, earth

I love you, I love you

(I love you, I love you)

I love you now

I love you, I love you

(I love you, I love you)

I love you, earth

I love you, I love you

(I love you, I love you)

I love you now

Yoko Ono

1.

My fingertips pushed through the mossy earth, into the damp soil, wriggling deeper.

The texture of the roots between my fingers, some thick and almost rubbery, others

delicate and fine, webs, rhizomes.

The clay, the silt, the sand, the worm casts crumbled in my hands.

All day I carried the smell of fresh earth on my fingers.

Oh how much I wanted to push down right into you, my love, to be consumed by you.

To feel myself sink into your depths, my dear, to take shelter in your underworld.

The majesty of the mountains revealed themselves as I ascended.

Tremendous expanses of daunting beauty.

Above, vultures circled.

Up here, where the air is thin, on the rocky outcrops, awe belongs to you alone, my love.

The insects, the wildflowers, the so many ladybirds, the highland meadows thronged with life.

My heart ached.

Oh to curl up here, my dear, and listen to the wildlife creeping out after dark.

To contemplate the stars as the temperature plummets and my nose drips with the biting cold.

I sat by the fire.

Pine cones glowed orange, the needles hissed and spat, sap oozed from a green wood

branch and the wood from the ash tree burned slow and hot.

In the flickering light of the dancing flame, silence and conversation, all welcome by the crackling fire.

The fluidity, the creativity, the passion, it was all there, my love.

The fire radiated through me and I could taste the sweat and smoke on my lips.

Oh to be so enthralled by you, my dear.

To be pulled so close my cheeks burned red.

The skin on the back of my neck tingled with the ice-cold water of the river.

I looked down at my legs, glistening and distorted, my feet wrapped over a smooth

pebble, holding fast against the rushing water.

The little fish, the tadpoles, the river-weed tangled up with my feet, my skin flushed pink.

I went numb, for a bit, my love.

The sound of the flowing water lulled me, I spoke quietly to myself.

I bent down, submerged my face, the water lapping against my lips.

Oh how it is to feel your energy in the water, my dear.

To feel it in my scalp, shivering down my body.

2.

Now, I thank you, my love, for walking this walk with me.

You have been the finest companion.

You have walked me through such happiness and joy, such sadness and confusion.

With you it has all been welcome. It has all been all right.

And now, I question, what sort of companion was I?

For all that I celebrated you and revelled in your wonder, I see now that I did not honour

you, nor hold you in true reverence.

I was here, you were there, and so I walked with you sometimes, and then went elsewhere.

I admired you from afar.

And from that comfortable distance, I could not feel how I too was caught up in

exploiting you, diminishing you.

I made you an object, myself a subject.

We stood apart.

You, and I.

And now, I wonder, who has suffered most, from this story of you, and I?

Because you, my love, were never ‘nature’.

And I …

I was never anything else.

3.

Now, in the silence, I stretch my fingers wide and rest my hands on my belly.

I breathe deep and slow.

No clenched fists, an open heart, tender, no fear in fragility.

My feet stand firm, my roots.

My skin burns.

Here, this is the unbearably perfect.

Now, one.

These scars are ours.

Now, into the wilderness, into the hostile world that has fought, so long, to silence our truth.