Over the past two months, I had the opportunity to participate in two beautiful workshops that had me spending a lot of creative time outside. The first was 30 Days of Nature Poetry, offered by poet Mary Walker from New Zealand. It was a daily practice of taking time to sit in nature, see what you notice, and write about it, not to produce perfect poems, but to develop a ritual of presence and attentiveness. The other workshop was “Journaling the Garden”, offered by award-winning author Janisse Ray, which combined journaling with sketching, contour drawing, watercolor, and poetry comics.
One day, during one of these nature journaling sessions, I was drawn to the long stalks of wild onions popping up around the yard. It reminded me of when I was a little girl, pulling wild onions from the ground and using them, along with berries and other treasures found in the garden, to make a soup, a potion, a magical elixir. That experience inspired this:
Wild Onions I picked a handful of wild onions, like I did when I was a child. It rained last night, so most were easy to coax from the ground. Though I was amazed at the power of some, their white, wrinkly roots, curling deep into the earth, tenaciously holding onto their home in the dirt. The smell on my hands reminded me, of a wildness I once had, a fearless spontaneity, that could give in to curiosity without analysis, or notions of productivity. No worrying if the neighbors could see me crouching down, determinedly pulling at the green stalks, desperate to discover what was hiding beneath. These workshops have been a timely reminder that the peace and wisdom of the soul can always be found in presence and paying attention. The answers we seek are already within us, and it’s up to us whether or not we choose to listen. It’s up to us whether or not we decide to stop and pay attention. Mary Oliver has a poem titled, Sometimes, and in it she gives us this wisdom,
Instructions for Living a Life:
Pay Attention.
Be Astonished.
Tell about it.
These practices of presence, whether through poetry, drawing, or pulling wild onions from the earth, are more than a creative exercise; they are a way back to ourselves. When we slow down and truly pay attention, we reconnect not only with the natural world but with the parts of ourselves that too often get buried beneath daily distractions. There is wisdom in the soil, in the wind, in the scent of crushed onion on your fingertips, and it’s available to us anytime we choose to look. The invitation is always there: step outside, listen deeply, and remember what it means to be alive.
Soul Geography 