In winter, the complexity of the forest is laid bare.
Without the distraction of spring’s leafy dress, you can see right through to the forest skeleton. I am reminded of endless, intricate labyrinths—repeating patterns of wildness all the way down to the microscopic.
There is something reassuring about this winter view—a relief from the sterile, plastic world we are busily building. It’s nature’s chaos, and I find it hugely inspiring.
Yesterday, I did my annual garden cleanup getting ready for spring. I’m not a tidy gardener, but in early spring, my postage-stamp yard looks a little more ordered and less like a wild jungle. It doesn’t stay like this for long, though.
I like my little garden, but I would not want to live in a world without wild, chaotic nature.
Chaos is wildness, and wildness is life.