My latest read is Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. I think it’s about time I begin discussing my favorite books — genres, styles of writing, and all. I’m an intuitive reader, so I usually pick up books, which strike me in the moment. One day, I’ll be reading Sappho, the next Walt Whitman, and on an entirely different day I’ll be reading some philosophy on Judaism and other books surrounding Jewish mysticism (see Abraham Joshua Heschel and Martin Buber).
As you can probably see by now, I have quite the versatile taste in literature and poetry! This brings me back to my topic for this morning.
I’m currently reading Rebecca — just started this morning, in fact, and this thought immediately came to mind: We’re not connected with nature anymore.
I can’t tell you how many times I had to look up different flora as I parsed through this book. Of course, I’m not familiar with the English countryside and its flora and fauna, but I think its rather interesting how disconnected we have become from our natural environments and the seasons we share with nature.
As a writer, I make an effort to gather the names of the trees, plants, and wildlife, which surround me. I believe this to be an imperative undertaking for all writers. One should know the environment they live in just as one should know the natural seasons we, as humans, ascribe to because we live on earth. Our bodies, minds, and souls work in the same way as the seasons we dwell in. So, why have we become so detached from nature? Why have we forgotten the roots, which will always guide us home?
Right now as I write this message, I’ve spied a rabbit passing by my outdoor patio. I take this as a sign.
Today, take a moment to observe your environment and become familiar with one plant, tree, or herb that is native to where you live. I’ll do the same.
The Muse of Idle Stars 