Leaf Calligraphy
Fresh snow is like a canvas laid over the landscape. You can plainly see the writing of the more-than-human world. I was eager to set out…
Fresh snow is like a canvas laid over the landscape. You can plainly see the writing of the more-than-human world. I was eager to set out onto this canvas after finishing reading Spell of the Sensuous by David Abram. As soon as I stepped onto the trail at the Chinquapin Bluffs Preserve in Woodford County I noticed small irregular marks in the snow. At first, I thought they were the tops of vole tunnels, but they were too delicate and curved for that to be the case. I did not figure it out until I saw a shingle oak leaf at the end of a trail of leaf calligraphy. The windblown leaf created beautiful delicate curved lines that provide clues to the leaf’s shape, the texture of the snow, wind direction and speed. There is a lot to learn from a leaf. The need to learn from nature and indigenous cultures is one of the central premises of Spell of the Sensuous. It is full of original practical insights. I feel like the pandemic slowed us down from 75 miles per hour to around 45 miles per hour. Now, the features of the landscape are a little more clear, but we need to slow to a walk to really see our surroundings. Once we are walking, we then need to stop and acknowledge and appreciate nature. Without this connection and the resulting empathy it engenders, we will continue to destroy our surroundings.
There are many beautiful stories about indigenous people in this book. One of my favorite quotes is from an indigenous elder talking about his tribe’s history and connection to animals. “White people write in books, my ancestors married animals.” This pretty well sums up the divide between indigenous cultures and modern western culture. Once we developed the alphabet and writing we drifted away from oral culture and a connection to place. Oral stories are place-based and the alphabet allowed for abstraction, portability, and disconnection. As our language developed our senses and perception withered. Writing, abstraction, convenience, modern technology are now a runaway train and our challenge is to try and couple indigenous knowledge and sense of place to the train.
We are adrift in a sea of blinking electronic light. Do we really want Google, Facebook, and Amazon to be our guiding light? I will take the sun and moon and stars. The variable clouds and shifting sunlight mixed with wind-blown grasses created a mesmerizing scene on the prairie yesterday afternoon. I stood next to the Mackinaw River and listened to the sounds of flowing water mixed with the sound of the wind moving through the trees and prairie. It was encompassing, I could feel myself relax beside the dark water and golden prairie. I walked along the river as far as I could observing its shifting currents and sheets of ice. I feel drawn to the river lately. I think it is due to reading Arctic Dreams by Barry Lopez.
The challenge posed by Abrams, Lopez, and other visionaries is for us to figure out the unique language, rhythms, and features of our landscape and to bring them back into our lives. The land along the Mackinaw provides a microcosm and glimpse of what our landscape used to look like. As I watched the wind and sun play across the prairie I tried to imagine this scene stretching off as far as the eye can see. How would that view shape a person?