This week of reminded me of the power of process.

Of the importance of simply keeping showing up, without any expectation.

The way that the prompts had landed this week in my random drawing of them in retrospect form a process that helped me to pay attention to what wanted me to pay attention. I share below some practice prompts inspired by each day’s word. If you’re looking to gain clarity on a question, then these practices might offer a way in.

Day 1 - Water

I took ten minutes to pause and sit by the water on Brighton Beach before heading to London for the day.

Practice: Take time to pause, and pay attention to the movement of water, whether it is the sea, a stream, a river or water rippled by the wind in a lake. The water is different moment to moment. Reflect on the nature of the cycle of water. What might this tell us about our life?

Day 2 - Gaze

The word gaze reminded me of the poem ‘Another Westminster Bridge’ by Alice Oswald. The first two lines are:

“go and glimpse the lovely inattentive water
discarding the gaze of many a bored street walker”

I tore this poem out of The Guardian when it is first published there in 2005. I pinned it to the grey walls of my office cubicle. I was fortunate to have a view of the Thames and of London Bridge. The poem drew my attention again and again, as I also watched the water of the river.

“take hold of a breath-width instant, stare
at water which is already elsewhere”

The poem tells of

“where weather trespasses into strip-lit offices
through tiny windows into tiny thoughts and authorities”

It’s still one of my favourite poems.

Practice: Notice what your gaze is drawn to. What can you learn from this?

Day 3 - Choice

Practice: We make so many choices every day about what we pay attention to. Note these choices. Not just your gaze, but what you hear, what you touch. Maybe there is a particular sense that is drawing your attention.

I had one of those days in which I was repeatedly thrown off course from what I had planned to do. Finally, I took myself out for a walk. I was drawn, perhaps unsurprisingly, to the trees. I took a picture of the rowan trees. The rowan tree is known for offering protection. Maybe I was making a choice to look for protection of my creative energy.

Day 4 - Curiosity

Practice: How can I be curious about what I am paying attention to? Or how I can deepen my curiosity about what I am paying attention to? There is a nature journalling technique suggested by John Muir Laws, which uses the prompts ‘I notice…’, ‘I wonder….’, ‘It reminds me of…’

Day 5 - Open

Practice: How can I open myself further to what wants me to pay attention? Simply setting that intention helps to open the door.

Day 6 - Hear

Practice: Let yourself hear what wants to be heard, what wants to be expressed through you. Sometimes, it can be about taking action on what has been calling your attention - and this can then release a bigger unlock.

I’d been thinking about signing up for a Green Tarot course with Stephen McCabe, one of the Tariki Trust tutors I studied with my for ecotherapy diploma. I’d been umming and ahhing about it, and this morning I finally decided to sign up - the course started the same evening. It was half an hour after I signed up that I had a flash of insight. I don’t think this was a coincidence. By saying yes to something that had been calling my attention - and which is all about paying attention using the images of the tarot cards as a starting point - this then unlocked something bigger.

Day 7 - Breath

Practice: Take a moment to sit with your breath and whatever you have heard - or maybe haven’t heard, but will reveal itself in time - if you continue to pay attention.

I did this while sitting watching the blood moon lunar eclipse. Unlike the solar eclipse, I watched this on my own. I only saw one other person, an early morning jogger. I enjoyed simply being able to sit and watch, without any special equipment. And take a few deep breaths, breathing in the beauty of the moment.

This worked for me as a process this week, although I hadn’t explicitly designed it as such. On day 6 of this week, ‘Hear’, I had a flash of insight about what my offering is in the world in this next stage of my life. It came in a moment of clarity, and also it seemed so obvious at the same time. All of the threads of my work were pointing to this insight - including the ‘paying attention to paying attention’ challenge. I will share more in due course, but suffice to say ‘paying attention to paying attention’ does work as a process if you have a question about what’s next that you are holding.

There are just three days left of August, and three words as prompts:

August 29 - Way

August 30 - Feet

August 31 - Reflection

The last day is an invitation to reflect on what you might have learnt from this month, reflection being an important part of tiny experiments such as this. It can also be an opportunity to think about what’s next, and anything you make like to carry forward from this into your creative projects and life. I’ll be posting my own reflections next week.

I’ve been really enjoying the variety of responses on Instagram and poems and photographs here on Substack.

If you feel tempted to try any or all of the above practices let me know, and if the prompts have sparked your thoughts on process or anything else, I’d love to hear.

And a welcome to new subscribers, many of whom found me through a note I posted on the thrill of ‘To Hear the Trees Speak’ being displayed next to H is for Hawk by Helen MacDonald, a book I studied as part of my Masters, and was a big inspiration for me, in Waterstones Lewes. It’s lovely to connect here with other tree-people and nature-lovers and nature-writers! Thank you for being here.

On Wednesday morning, it rained where I live in the UK. In previous summers that might not seem like an event to remark on. But in a summer where July had 1% of the usual rainfall, much of the country is a drought, a national emergency alert was sent to every phone to warn of the risks of wildfires, where grass is brown rather than green, rain is to be celebrated.

The word for Wednesday was ‘Praise.’ Walking in the rain to go swimming in the outdoor pool, the words came into my head. “Praise the rain.” I knew they were from a poem by Joy Harjo but I couldn’t remember any of the other lines. Back home, I looked them up.

The poem opens:

“Praise the rain, the seagull dive
The curl of plant, the raven talk -”

These words from the poem then started to run through my brain:

“Praise the crazy. Praise the sad.
Praise the road on which we’re led.”

It closes:

“Praise the rain; it brings more rain.
Praise the rain; it brings more rain.”

You can read the whole poem at On Being and listen to Padraig O’Tuama reading it as well - there’s something about hearing it which stopped me trying to figure out meaning with my rational mind, and surrender to the feeling meaning which is evoked by it.

Touch

On Sunday, I went to the Ana Mendieta exhibition at Tate Modern in London. The word for the day was ‘Touch.’ Her work is rooted in a physical connection with the land. A number of her works feature her hands. She wrote the following about her work:

In her work she explores this fundamental desire to belong to the earth, which affirms our place in the world. In another quote, she says:

Her work was a way to connect to this energy. One of my favourite pieces was a short film called ‘Energy Charge’. In this, you see her approach a tree. As she leans her body against the tree, she is lit up in red, and parts of the tree light up too, a visualisation of the energy exchange between person and tree.

Community

This project was born from wanting to pay attention in community. To have the accountability to others, as well as to myself, to pay attention every day for the month. To see how others are responding to the prompts when they choose to share. And knowing that others are paying attention too. Shalagh Hogan writes here about the power of online community and her new project to celebrate this. It is through Instagram that I met Shalagh and other people who have become a supportive online community, gathered together initially through one of Susannah Conway’s Instagram prompt challenges, in the early days of Instagram - when it really was just about people sharing their daily lives, not about selling and carefully crafted content.

These are the words for the week ahead. Feel free to play along as you will - journalling prompts, poetry prompts, photography prompts, words for the day.

August 22 - Water

August 23 - Gaze

August 24 - Choice

August 25 - Curiosity

August 26 - Open

August 27 - Hear

August 28 - Breath

Please do share any reflections, insights, experiences, questions or comments!

This week on Wednesday evening, in the UK we had the opportunity to view the partial solar eclipse. I went to the viewing organised by the Lewes Astronomical Society in Seaford, East Sussex, on the beach. When I arrived just after 6pm, there were so many people already there. Some might have just been there for a day out at the beach anyway, but there were also many people trying to get hold of the eclipse glasses that they were handing out.

A friend of mine was set up with camera, complete with filter. I was fortunate to be able to view the progress of the eclipse through a combination of the screen of her camera, an iPad showing images from one of the Society’s telescopes and a father and grown-up daughter who shared their glasses with a little band of us that had formed. I also borrowed her filter to get the shot at the top of this post. As the peak of the eclipse was reached, there was a dimming of the light and it became a little cooler, but the effect wasn’t so dramatic. Yet watching the moon bite into the sun and then move on again, it was amazing to consider the workings of the solar system that allow eclipses to happen, and for those of us on earth to be able to view them, so many million miles away.

There was also something reassuring about so many people gathering to watch a natural phenomenon. Part of me at the beginning was wishing that I had gone somewhere quieter (although I didn’t have any equipment to be able to view it), but then there was power in being with a crowd of people. The Paying Attention to Paying Attention prompt for the day was, coincidentally, ‘sacred.’ I think as humans we have this innate hunger for connection with that which is bigger than us.

Amongst our little group, one of the guys spoke about how the eclipse was a time for planting seeds of intentions. I said that maybe such practices worked because we were then more open to things that came across our path that we might have otherwise ignored or missed. He agreed. I asked if he had planted any seeds. He replied that he had planted a literal oak sapling the day before.

Wednesday night also saw the peak of the Perseid meteor showers. The Astronomical Society people said that the meteor showers would start at about 11pm, so I thought I would stay up to take a look. Just before 11pm, I went outside and lay on the brown grass in my garden, looking up to the north/north east. Soon after, I saw the first shooting star streaking across the sky, and then another, and another. There was something about this act of simply laying out under the stars in my small garden, watching the stars and shooting stars, which felt freeing. At the same time, it was slightly disturbing to see some many satellites blinking their way across the sky. Coming back inside, I wrote down intentions, inspired by the eclipse and the meteor shower - one of which was “I am open to new possibilities and new beginnings.” The word for Thursday was ‘Receive.’ Let’s see what happens as I continue to pay attention.

I’ve never experienced a total eclipse and this made me want to experience the 100% version, not the 90% version - the next total solar eclipse is in Spain, and parts of the Middle East and North Africa on 2 August 2027, so I might start making travel plans!

Words for this week (it’s never too late to jump in - see this post for full details):

15 August: Trees

16 August: Touch

17 August: Colours

18 August: Linger

19 August: Praise

20 August: Community

21 August: Haiku

If you’d like any haiku tips for 21 August (or to use on any day!), then check out this post on haiku, nature poetry and mindfulness:

Did you see the eclipse? What have been your experiences of Paying attention to paying attention this week? I’d love to hear!

“We don’t make these things for an outcome. That’s not the mindset to make something great.

The outcome happens when you’re making the best thing you can make.

It’s a devotional practice.”

Rick Rubin, on the Huberman Lab podcast, shared by London Writers’ Salon, in daily Words of Wisdom

Hello, and welcome to week 2 of paying attention to paying attention. And if it is week 1 for you, welcome too. And hello to new subscribers, lovely to see you here. Thank you to and for drawing people’s attention to this challenge/invitation. And do check out Esther’s poetic responses to the prompts so far on her Substack. (Note: this is a bumper newsletter so it may be cut short in some emails, so please click through to the app or website if so.)

Yesterday, I went to see an exhibition at the the Photographers’ Gallery in London - Japanese Women Photographers: from 1950s to now. I found it very inspiring - I came away buzzing. One of the reasons for this was the focus on small, everyday moments in the work of many of the 27 photographers represented. In Japanese, photography - shashin - translates as ‘representation of reality.’

KOMATSU Hiroko undertook a project called ‘Instant Diary’ in 2020. She took a Polaroid picture everyday for a year, and fixed it to an index card, with a sentence on the back about the day. You can see why such a project might appeal to me as a way of paying attention to paying attention! I was tempted to buy a Polaroid camera. I might still do… By coincidence, a selection of the cards that was shown in a book was for August. The entry for August 8 was ‘I went to Konsaura’s talk-show.’ (I can’t quite see the name in the photo, it might not be Konsaura.) August 7 is ‘The pickled plums are ready.’ From what I can see, the pictures are not obviously linked to the words.

I had a daily project on Instagram for over nine years, from September 2016 to January this year of posting a picture and sentence or two. There’s something about the physical object, the act of creating, of making the card, in a world of digital noise. And thinking about the practicalities, of having a Polaroid camera at hand every day - that requires some going out of the way. It’s not like pulling your mobile phone out of your bag.

I just loved the saturated colours of NINAGAWA Mika’s work as well.

I had intended for this post to be a round-up of what I had been up to for the past week in terms of paying attention to paying attention, so here’s a brief overview.

August 1. Feel

I felt drawn to pick up my ‘proper’ camera and photograph these flowers that I received with my veg box delivery.

August 2. Soft

Soft summer light at Laughton Greenwood. And I gave a talk as part of their 10th birthday celebrations, which included a segment on paying attention.

August 3. Blessings

Starting the day with ten minutes sitting under the apple tree. It felt like receiving blessings from the apple tree. Later, I looked up the meaning of the apple tree and blessings is key to many stories related to this tree.

August 4. Walking

A pomegranate tree spotted on my walk into Lewes. I practiced a walking meditation based on a mantra from the book ‘Hiking Zen’ by Brother Phap Xa and Brother Phap Luu.

August 5. Light.

Paying attention to the changing light captured on my notebook. Coincidentally, a comment on a post from October in which I shared a poem about the changing light under the apple tree, which I had forgotten about. The first lines are:

To begin again

to watch the light change
on a patch of grass
the light to come and go
as softly and quietly as my breath
flows in and out

You can read the full poem here (and listen to me read it too).

August 6. Give.

The orchid I received from a friend at the launch of my book last year in May is flowering again. Flowers truly are the gift that keep on giving.

August 7. Harvest

Figs spotted on a tree in central London.

There’s also action happening over on Instagram on the hashtag - #patpa26. I’m on Instagram at oliviasprinkel and am posting daily there about this challenge.

Prompts for this week are as follows. Use them however you like - for journalling, poems, photographs, drawing, collage. Combine them all into one poem. Have fun with it!

8 August: Air

9 August: Here

10 August: Gratitude

11 August: Move

12 August: Sacred

13 August: Receive

14 August: Body

And it is not too late to jump in. If you missed it, this post sets out the background and all the prompts, and this is Week 1.

Have you been playing along? What have you noticed from paying attention to paying attention? Any small miracles? Any celebrations, challenges, questions, comments? Would love to hear!

Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. That sums up the intention for the ‘Paying attention to paying attention’ invitation for August.

I love this quote from Mary Oliver’s poem, ‘Sometimes’.

I have used it when giving talks. In my talk, I speak about how paying attention is the root of all action. By paying attention, by listening, we can see where action is needed, and where our efforts may best be placed.

And each of us will pay attention in our own particular way. In writing my book, I paid attention to the trees by learning to listen to them and writing about them.

You might be gardeners, or scientists, or citizen scientists, or artists, or photographers or poets. Or you might attach to none of the labels, and the labels don’t matter at all. You might simply be a person who loves the world.

I was thinking about how the wildfires that are burning in England, Scotland, France and Spain at the moment. What is the role of paying attention in a world that is burning?

Paying attention brings us back to the world that we are in right now. The world that is waiting to be loved. Paying attention is the root of all action.

The Buddha sat under a tree for 49 days and nights to gain the answer to the question of why do people suffer. There was probably a lot of immediate busy action he could have taken in those 49 days, but he chose to sit under a tree. I write in ‘To Hear the Trees Speak’ how I imagine he paid attention.

His actions then had a lot more impact from the insights he gained. From his time sitting under the tree, the Four Noble Truths emerged, which are at the core of his teaching.

Sometimes we need to slow down to then be able to take focused, impactful action. Or maybe the slowing down itself is what is needed. That is the rebel action in a world that tells us we need to be acting more quickly, all of the time, with urgent demands on our attention.

We can choose where we place our attention.

Here are the first seven prompts, for the first seven days of August:

1. Feel

2. Soft

3. Blessing

4. Walking

5. Light

6. Give

7. Harvest

Or just pay attention to whatever is calling you, however it is calling you.

Share how you get on, any learnings, any insights, what is calling your attention.

See previous post for full list of prompts and more about the invitation.

And see you in a week! (I might post on Notes as well in the interim.)

Upcoming events

• Sunday, 2 August - Talk at Laughton Greenwood Community Woodland 10th Birthday Celebrations - a whole day of activities, come along for the whole day or an hour, it would be lovely to see you there if you are in the East Sussex area.

• Sunday, 30 August - Talk at Into the Wild Gathering, West Sussex

I’ve been thinking recently about the importance of paying attention. In truth, I have been thinking about it for a while, and it is a key part of my book, ‘To Hear the Trees Speak: Adventures in Listening’ - where listening in all its forms is one way of paying attention. But at the end of June, I decided that was going to ‘pay attention to paying attention.’ This was inspired by reading Anne-Laure Le Cunff’s book ‘Tiny Experiments.’ In it, she suggests that, rather than setting ourselves big goals, we instead set up tiny experiments, and see what emerges.

My intention was to run my tiny experiment from 26 June to 31 September. I wrote: “My commitment is to pay attention to paying attention each day, to record my observations and to stay curious, to notice patterns and what I’m drawn to.”

This lasted for approximately two weeks. And then I missed a day. And then I went away to Finland. And my tiny experiment ground to a halt.

But I had missed out one important ingredient that Anne-Laure writes about in the book: making the tiny experiment public, and doing it in community.

So the thought came to me that I would restart the experiment for the month of August. To keep me on a track, I would have a word each day as a prompt. And I would make it public and invite others to join me.

So, here is my invitation, if you choose to accept. Pay attention to paying attention for the month of August. You could do this every day. Or dip in and out. For many, August is a month of going on holiday, or slowing down, and therefore you might have more spaciousness to do this. And if you aren’t, then maybe it is a way to simply pay attention to the every day. One of my favourite quotes is from Annie Dillard: “How we live our days is how we live our lives.” Each day is our life. How can we better pay attention?

Above is the video of my live draw of the 30 words to feature. Some of you might be wondering why there are only 30, when there are 31 days in August. Good point! I hadn’t planned it, but it means that day 31 can be for reflection - an important part of tiny experiments to see what we can learn!

How the invitation works:

Below is a list of prompts, one for each day in August. You can use these as a starting point for paying attention each day. You might then choose to write about your experience, or take a picture, or make some other kind of art in response. You might choose to post on Instagram or Substack - if you do, please tag me or use the hashtag #patpa26 (paying attention to paying attention 26!) on Instagram, I would love to see what you are paying attention to.

I’ll be posting each Saturday on Substack with the prompts for the week to come and reflections on the past week. Please use the comments to share your reflections too. This Saturday, I will share more about why I think paying attention is so important.

I’m looking forward to this tiny experiment and to seeing where it might go! And please share with anyone who you think might enjoy taking part too!

We cover how she discovered the joys of landscape photography, what makes Iona special and tips for capturing the mood of a place.

You write in ‘Iona with Love’ about how you study botany, and you initially thought that you would photograph flowers on the island but then shifted to landscapes. Can you speak about how you found what you wanted to focus on in your work? How did that shift happen?

I love flowers. They’re one of my great passions in life and have been since I was a small child. I think I still have the ambition to photograph flowers, not just on Iona, but just generally.

It just doesn’t quite seem to happen. I think it’s a whole other skill set. Perhaps I will develop it eventually. Because I love the flowers and because I am a botanist I really thought I could photograph the flowers on Iona and come up with a photographic flora.

I had a little compact camera at the time. And, of course, it was very windy, as it almost always is on Iona. Photographing these tiny little flowers in the machair, blowing about like crazy in the wind, with this compact camera proved to be impossible, or at least I couldn’t come up with anything that I thought would make a good photographic flora.

But I was interested and I got another camera. I went off on a flower photography course at the Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh, which was just fantastic. But on that course, I met somebody who had been on a landscape photography course.

She said to me, “It was a great course, and the tutor’s really good.” And I thought, I think I’d quite like to do that. So I found this person’s details and I booked on a course, which was in the Lake District.

Through this sequence of events, I end up on the shores of Derwent Water. It’s very early, on a May morning, I am there with this camera and tripod and there is this scene - the most beautiful spring greens on the hillside, and the light catching one of the wee islands in the lake.

I think sometimes you find yourself in something where everything resonates in a scene. It was really early in the morning, a time when you wouldn’t normally be out, and the birds were singing, and it was just utterly magical.

Do you still have that picture?

I do. Yes, it means a lot to me.

I love that coming home to yourself in that moment.

You’ve visited and written about many of the Scottish islands, so are there any sort of particular qualities that make Iona special for you?

The colours are exquisite, even the stones on Iona are beautifully coloured. The sea, when the sun is reflecting from it, is turquoise, it’s just an extraordinary colour, and alongside the white sand beaches. It’s quite a thing.

But there are other Scottish islands that are like that as well. I can think of some of the places in the Outer Hebrides that absolutely have turquoise sea and the white shell sands. I’ve loved being on many of the islands that I’ve written about. I really love the Scottish islands, generally.

So I do think part of my love of Iona is the fact that I’ve had such a long relationship with it, and that it has become special over time. However, I’m not alone in thinking this. The Scottish colourists, in the early part of the 20th century, some of them used to go every year. Cadell and Peploe in particular would go every summer to paint on Iona. They felt that the place had something very special about it, that the light had a special quality.

And I’ve thought that myself, that when you cross over from Mull to Iona, there’s a qualitative difference. It’s as if the light is almost translucent, it shimmers. It really has a brilliance about it.

The other thing that I would say is that Iona does have a pretty well-known and serious ecclesiastical history, it’s considered a very spiritually important place. I wonder about that. It’s considered sacredness is a very real thing about it. How much that has an effect on how you feel when you’re on the island, I don’t know. But there is the Benedictine Abbey, and the remains of the nunnery. People are actively, and have been for many years, going on pilgrimages to Iona. People are praying there, singing there. It’s got a presence. And I think all of these things probably make it very special.

You’ve already shared some of your tips for landscape photography, but do you have any others about capturing the mood of a place?

In that year that I did the monthly photographing on the island, it was in the very last month of the project, in February. I’d spent most of that day, walking from place to place, taking photographs. And then I ended up at the north end of the island on this particular beach, feeling pretty down, wondering, “What am I doing?” I sat down on a rock, all my gear packed away.

I looked at the scene, and the tide was on its way out. It was a spring tide, so it was going a long way out.

And the answer was, I don’t really know. And I sat there.

Eventually I became attracted to a rock, that had become exposed on the beach.

I thought I could do something with that. And I spent up until the very last of the light with that one rock on that one beach with the tide going way out.

When I got back home, I realised that that photograph spoke so powerfully to me of this moment of absolute loneliness on that beach. Just being there on this grey day, nobody around. It’s such a melancholy thing. And somehow what I’d chosen just spoke to me, and so I think for me that was the teaching about just spending time, just being. And how valuable it is sometimes to stop taking photographs and just be in the landscape.

The very famous British landscape photographer Joe Cornish, I hope I’m not going to misquote him, but I think he said when somebody asked him for advice, “Get out more and take less photographs.” That mantra has come back to me so often. I’m not sure that I adhere to it all that much, but in those times when I really hear it, I think it helps. There’s a thing about digital photography, that you can just keep photographing and there’s something helpful about stopping sometimes and just looking.

Thank you very much to Barbara for sharing her story and insights!

To find out more about Barbara’s work:

Iona with Love - available online and from your local bookshop

Barbarasellarsphotography.co.uk

Images-of-Iona.com

Barbara will also be speaking at the Edinburgh Fringe, 20^th August, 3.00pm at St Columba’s by the Castle

Barbara Sellars’ beautiful book of photographs and essays about the island of Iona, Iona with Love, was published at the end of February, by Luath Press. I first met Barbara during lockdown when we both participated in an online Arvon course on narrative non-fiction. Following the course, three of us formed a writing group, meeting on Zoom monthly and checking in weekly on our writing progress, cheering each other on.

I was curious to find out more about how the book came about, how she combines photography and writing, and her tips for landscape photography. I found it fascinating to hear about her journey and loved her photography advice for connecting with the landscape. We covered so much that I’ve split the interview in two, so you can savour each part. The second part will be published tomorrow.

You’ve been photographing Iona since 2010. When did you decide that you wanted to make it a book and how did the book come about?

In 2011, I decided that I would begin a project of making images on Iona every month for a whole year. That was the start of it all. I wanted to end up with a collection of images that reflected something of the different moods of the island and its features that attracted my attention. At the time, I hoped I would get a collection that I could, perhaps, make an exhibition out of, and some of those images did form part of my first photographic exhibition in 2014.

I was also making notes, because there was a bit of me thinking that there could be some sort of wee book of Iona through the seasons.

But, I was relatively new to landscape photography at the time and that year was something of a learning zone in reality, though the notes and images did become the basis of a series of articles that I wrote for Scottish Islands Explorer magazine. That was actually the beginning of a long relationship with that magazine.

When I came to the end of that year of photographing on the island, I didn’t want to stop. I continued, just not every month.

As for the book that eventually came out of all this, I do remember writing, (sometime after the event that inspired it), about a moment that I’d had on the island that year. It was one evening with a glorious sunset and just watching the light on one particular sand pattern. That writing became the chapter that is now called ‘Bright Particularities’ in the book. In a way, I think that was the start of me looking at the whole Iona project in a slightly different way, something that would lead eventually to essays reflecting such moments in time and memories over the years. And the idea of the island and its different moods began to form itself into themes and how the collection of photographs that I was building might fit into those themes. It was an organic process I think, over time, that distilled itself into words and images reflecting my love of the island, its moods and features.

What does writing bring for you that photography doesn’t, and vice versa, and how do they complement each other in your practice?

I think that’s a really interesting question. When I’m sat on a beach or wherever, I might write a few things down - what I’m seeing, hearing, what’s around me - but a lot of my writing is done later on reflection which is in sharp contrast to the photography, because the photography is absolutely present moment. I’m mostly just there and immersed in it. I’m really not in my headspace when I’m photographing, I’m with the landscape, just absorbed in that moment of what is happening.

A good photograph should speak for itself without needing explanation. For me the words are a different way of looking at what it’s like to be in that landscape - the sensory perceptions, but also I might write of little moments of quite personal narrative, of just reflecting back on moments in time. So they do complement each other, but I don’t do them at the same time.

Some people from a nature connection point of view see photography as separating you from the landscape. Is there any advice that you would give to people looking to develop more of that present moment relationship that you describe?

The first thing I want to say is I’m still learning, in the sense that I don’t always succeed with this at all.

Sometimes I catch myself in those moments of chasing something, like I’m moving on to the next thing, and it’s like I’m searching, but I haven’t really settled. With landscape photography it really pays to stay in one place for a length of time. You’re watching the tide, or whatever it might be, and then stay and really take notice of what you’re seeing. I find that eventually you’re not thinking about anything else.

When I first started photography and went to some courses, the chap who was teaching gave every participant a little cardboard viewing frame that you could look through, instead of looking through the camera. I still use a viewing frame even now to compose an image. Before I even set up the tripod. And tripods are a good thing for landscape photography. Setting up the tripod, not only does it mean you don’t have to compromise on all sorts of things like the speed and the ISO but it also encourages you, I think, to take more time over what is happening.

You also have to get good at knowing the difference, when sometimes a thing is absolutely in the moment. It’s about to disappear and you have to be quick. And you don’t really have time to think. You have to just respond.

What has Iona taught you about being a photographer and a writer?

It’s taught me to take notice, to see.

To see not just the big picture, but all the small things that are around me.

Particularly when a place is extremely beautiful in your mind, that temptation to really just look out and up is there, but it is good to look down and notice the small things, the intimate landscape.

It’s also taught me to slow down. In the early days I was often moving from one thing to another, in that scattered lack of attention way. It’s shown me that much about myself as well, I think, not just as a photographer, but as a person. That tendency to be always after the next thing – that’s fallen away a lot in that process.

I think that’s probably the same with writing, really paying attention, to what’s there, and trying to find the right words to really say what I’m feeling, experiencing.

In Part 2 of the interview we cover how Barbara discovered what she wanted to focus on in her work, what makes Iona special and photography tips for capturing the mood of a place.

To find out more about Barbara’s work:

Iona with Love - available online and from your local bookshop

Barbarasellarsphotography.co.uk

Images-of-Iona.com

Barbara will also be speaking at the Edinburgh Fringe, 20^th August, 3.00pm at St Columba’s by the Castle

I’d love to hear of more people watching it in orchards with groups of young people, as happened with the shorter version - or let us know where and who you watched with it (including trees!)

And a reminder that I will be going live on Thursday 21 May at 6pm UK time with Lucy Grabe-Watson, and the conversation will be live here.

It’s hard to believe that it is one year since the publication day of the book.

To be honest, it is clearly not a date which is ingrained in my memory. Full disclosure, I thought the anniversary was today, but it turns out the paperback publication date was 12 February, rather than the hardback date being 12 May. The hardback date of the publication is listed as being 8 May, but I marked the launch on 15 May. Anyway, give or take a few days, the book, To Hear the Trees Speak, has been out in the world for a year.

Things haven’t happened that I might have hoped for, for example reviews in the press. It turns out that is extraordinarily difficult to achieve, when 200,000 books a year are published in the UK.

But wonderful things have happened that I couldn’t have planned for, and which I am so grateful for. These include being asked to write a travel article about Finland for The Guardian, which was featured on the masthead of the newspaper. And being the subject of a short film about listening to trees by Ian Finch of Walk Wild - the Instagram version is out now and the 8-minute YouTube version is being launched this Sunday at 7pm, so please do tune in then and join the virtual viewing party. I’ve spoken at events in Sussex, Wales and London and to audiences worldwide online, on webinars and live on the radio in Cape Town, South Africa. I’ve spoken with lovely people such as Sarah of The Writer’s Walk, which led to Ian contacting me about the film.

I’ve loved hearing from people about the impact that the book has had on them, encouraging them to view and interact with trees differently than before. And that was the point of writing the book, so that is my measure of success. The more people the book reaches, or that I can reach through speaking at events or on film, then the more impact it can have. And we can never know how our words will be received or how they might be shared. I was particularly moved by this comment on the Instagram version of Ian’s film:

That these words are being shared with children and that it might help inspire them in their relationship to trees, is so rewarding to hear. (If you want to read more about the words I wrote to my niece, you can read that here.)

On a walk this morning, I reflected on how my ‘why’ is to be a voice for nature or the natural world, and that is the work that is mine to continue to do. I can only do the work, I can’t control the outcome. And if you’re considering the creative work you do, then I hope that helps you too, to just keep doing the work.

Upcoming events

On that note, I am pleased to share three upcoming events (in addition to the film premiere at 7pm UK time on YouTube this Sunday!):

Substack Live on 21 May, 6pm UK time with Lucy Grabe-Watson

One of the things that I’ve enjoyed most since the book came out is connecting with other tree-lovers. I’m so looking forward to chatting live with Lucy about ‘Being in Community with Trees.’ This picks up on a theme from previous posts, where I write about the importance of community, and making listening to trees the new normal. Lucy is a wonderful advocate for and campaigner for trees, and founded Ancient Woodlands UK, a leading national campaign for the legal protection of ancient woodland. Please join us live if you can on Substack, so we can be in community together.

Talk at Lewes Library on 11 June, 6:30 - 7.30pm

As part of Big Green Week, I’m going to be speaking at Lewes Library. I’ll be speaking about the lessons I’ve learnt from the trees, and there will be time for Q&A. Entry is free, but you need to register here. It would be lovely to see you there if you are in the area.

Workshops at Yogacamp, Sheffield Park, East Sussex, 25 - 28 June

I am going to be running two workshops at Yogacamp this year, one on Listening to River, as the site is by the River Ouse, and one on Listening to Trees. The workshops are on Friday 26 June and Sunday 28 June. Weekend and day passes are available. It was such a lovely event to be part of last year, with a wide range of talented teachers and I’m looking forward to it again this year. Information and tickets available here.

And one ask from me on the birthday of the book - if you have read the book and it has had an impact on you in some way, then I would be so grateful if you could leave a review on Amazon, GoodReads or wherever you bought the book - it really does help more people to find the book, and therefore helps more people to connect with trees. Thank you!

This isn’t what I planned to write. I sat down at my desk this morning, tried to write about what I had planned. Gave up. Wrote some emails. Then, after lunch, I sat on the bench between the apple tree and the cherry tree in my garden. I took my shoes and socks off. Let my feet breathe in the grass. Felt the sun on my face. And the thought came to me, “We are the normal ones - write about that.”

Let me back up a bit. I’m very lucky that I have been working with Ian Finch, a filmmaker and walk leader at Walk Wild (he leads walks near London and also further afield). He’s made a beautiful short film about listening to trees, in which I explain a little about my approach and read a short passage from the book. You can watch it here. (And if you comment ‘Oak’ on the Instagram post - by Wednesday 29 April - then you can be in with a chance of winning one of three signed copies of the paperback of ‘To Hear the Trees Speak’.)

In the film, the passage I read from the book is the message to my niece, expressing my hope that she will continue to respond to trees and the natural world from the place of her imagination as she grows older. In the book, before this passage, I write:

It’s been amazing to see the response to the film, and the amount of love there is for trees. And two responses in particular highlighted both this innate connection of children to the natural world, and how it is the response of adults in our society that tries to shut down this connection.

One lovely message I received said, “My 18 month old nephew has just started intuitively hugging trees. He seems absolutely drawn to them in awe. A beautiful reminder that we need to tap into our wise inner child.”

I just loved this as an example of how we are hardwired to connect with trees. A big yes to listening to our wise inner child!

The other was a comment which said: “Have always loved trees and family/friends thought I was weird for hugging them. Lucky enough now to have lots of trees near me who I speak to and tell them how beautiful they are.”

In reply, I wrote: “One of the beautiful things about sharing the book has been meeting people like you who love and appreciate trees - we just need to keep sharing our passion for trees as there is nothing more normal than being connected with them, as we have been for thousands of years.”

In the film, I speak about the Celtic word ‘mothaitheacht’ - the feeling that we get when we are in the presence of trees. And how I had a feeling of relief when I heard the word, because this feeling used to be part of our language and experience in these islands - and that it is something that we can come back to if we choose.

It used to be normal. And now it is seen by weird by some people. And we need to flip this around. Because there is nothing more normal.

I also wrote and spoke about the importance of creating a community around trees in a previous post (see below) - “There are so many of us who love trees, and want to deepen our relationship with trees, but we often lack spaces in which we can share this with others.”

Share your love with trees others, let children share their love of trees with you, find your tree people (trees and humans!).

Let’s make trees the new radical, rooted normal.

If you agree, please leave a heart or a comment - it will help other tree lovers find this post and know that they are part of a community of people who love trees!

Upcoming events:

Speaking of a community of people who love trees, I’m delighted to be running a workshop as part of the Urban Tree Festival in London in May: ‘The Poetry of Trees: a creative workshop.’ In the workshop, we will blend poetry and ecotherapy to explore our deep connections with trees and the more-than-human world. It’s on Saturday 9 May, at 2pm. Tickets are £5, all proceeds donated to the Urban Tree Festival. Full details and booking here. And do take a look at the wide range of events happening throughout the festival.

In something a little different for this post, I am going to be looking at the role that photography can play in helping us return to the present moment.

This year, I’ve been taking part in a photography intensive with the Emmas, a collective of female photographers. After having spent so much time on writing to get my book out into the world, I felt like I needed to refresh my creative practice in a medium other than writing.

Photography has been very important to me as a way of connecting with the world, particularly in connecting with moments of beauty. Since 2016, I have had a practice of taking a picture a day. It’s been a daily practice of slowing down, and appreciating the moment, even if just for the few seconds of taking the photograph. It’s been a daily practice till 29 January this year, when I realised the day after that I hadn’t taken a picture that day. I had simply forgotten. After nearly 10 years, I felt a sense of loss that this streak had ended, that my commitment had lapsed through mere forgetfulness when I had managed to keep it going through all different kinds of circumstances. But maybe it was a needed disruption, so I could reconsider my practice. I’ve become increasingly disillusioned with Instagram, where I had been posting my pictures, a space which has become less about community and connection, and more of a marketplace, full of ads and people selling.

Since that day, I have taken a picture on my camera phone when I feel like it and increasingly on my digital camera, but I am not looking for pictures in the same way when I go on my walks, and I do miss that. I also know that people have told me that they enjoy my pictures as moments of beauty in among the noise of Instagram and I feel in some way that I don’t want to give up on that space, to surrender it to reels and promotional posts, even as the algorithm shows still images to fewer and fewer people.

I don’t have the answer yet as to how I will take this forward. But I have been exploring. One of the things that I did was open a book that’s been on my bookshelves for many years: Why People Photograph by Robert Adams. Inside the book, I found two folded sheets of lined, A4 paper, with notes that I had made while reading it, recording favourite quotes. Part of me wondered at the younger me that had been the type of person that did this. I didn’t do this for any course that I was studying, I was simply doing it because I was interested in the subject. Another part of me wondered at how my interests were still so similar to this younger me - the quotes that I had pulled out then still very much resonated with me now.

Some of the quotes that I had pulled out included:

*why people photograph –because they are ‘alive by it’

*it’s about experiencing the here and now ‘there is still time –in the lee, in the quiet, in the extraordinary light’

exceptional photographs originate from ‘in personal need, in an urgency to find what the artist has to have to be at peace.’

‘the greatest pictures would…find wholeness in the torn world’

Why people photograph - because they are ‘alive by it’. That is at the heart of it for me too. Am I alive by it because it is a way of experiencing the here and now? That urgency to find what I have to have to be at peace. And for me, that is that connection with the present moment. When I am photographing a flower, when I am looking from different angles, I do find myself lost in the moment. I wrote in my journal yesterday:

What do I want to show through my photography? The connection that is possible when we look closely, the joy and wonder that comes through looking. Maybe it is more of a focus on the process than on the outcome…I want each picture to be a meditation. Something that you can lose yourself in. There is the return. There is the return over and over again to the present moment. That is the most important return of all. That is what photography brings for me.

Often when I look back at my photographs, I find that they haven’t captured the feeling of the moment. But then sometimes they do. And that’s the process.

I was going to write about disrupting ways of seeing but the writing took me elsewhere. Next time I will share about the joys of returning to film and using a toy camera.

To Iona with Love

Speaking of photography and writing, a gorgeous new book of images and essays has been published - To Iona with Love by Barbara Sellars. I’ve known Barbara for a few years now since we met on a writing course, and we’ve continued to meet monthly since then with another writer, sharing the joys and challenges of writing, cheering each other on. And it is so wonderful to see her book out now. The book is her love letter to Iona, the Scottish island which she knows so well, having been photographing there since 2010. It’s guaranteed to make you want to go to Iona and experience it in all its colours and seasons. The essays reflect on her relationship with Iona, including photographing it. In one essay, she writes of the ‘Bright Particularity of Things’ and how “Over the years that I’ve been visiting Iona, the attention to the small things, to the ‘bright particularities’ of the island, has been a source of pleasure.” Here’s to noticing the bright particularities.

If you like this article, you may also be interested in my article on another creative practice to cultivate paying attention and mindfulness.

I was so happy to be able to take part in an online event last night hosted by the Tariki Trust, where I spoke about the book and answered questions. I’ll write another day about the theme of my talk. The key takeaway that I had from the event was the importance of creating spaces where we can come together and be in community around trees. There are so many of us who love trees, and want to deepen our relationship with trees, but we often lack spaces in which we can share this with others. It felt that last night’s event was this coming together of community around trees. Thank you to everyone who came and made it such a special evening. I was left buzzing after it and feeling inspired to create and be part of more such spaces. I was moved to record this short video, which includes me reading an extract of the book, on the question of ‘What am I in service to?’

I headed to my local Waterstone’s bookshop at lunchtime today to see if I could sign some copies - and they had already sold out! I’m also really happy to hear that indie bookshops are stocking it. And it’s so nice to get recommendations like this one from Atkinson-Pryce bookshop. If you are tempted to get a copy, please do support your local bookshop if you can. (And The Sound Atlas sounds like an intriguing read.)

I’m now looking forward to a workshop that I am running for the Tariki Trust called Listening to Trees: Stories, science and soul, on 12 March. We will be diving into the art of listening to trees as wise beings, so please do check it out and sign up if you are interested.

I was also so happy to see this article in the New York Times, about how listening to and learning from trees is now offered as a course at Harvard! How amazing would it be if everyone’s education included trees as teachers. Thank you to Mary Reynolds Thompson for sharing the article with me.

If you see the paperback in your local bookshop, do let me know and I can give a shout out to them. And if you have read the book and enjoyed it, a review is very much appreciated to help other people to find it.

What makes Finland the happiest country? That was the question that I set out to answer in an article for The Guardian travel section. The article was published this weekend, and I was excited to see that it made it to the masthead of the print edition. You can read the article here.

The first tree in ‘To Hear the Trees Speak’ is the birch tree in Finland, and I drew on many years of spending time in Finland both in writing the article and the chapter in the book.

Speaking of the book… the paperback is coming out on 12 February in the UK, with distribution in the US set for the summer. There’s still time to sign up to join the launch event for the paperback on 11 February, 6pm GMT. I’ll be talking about the book and the lessons I learnt from the ten trees I visited around the world, and there’ll be time to ask questions - I’d love to see you there! You can sign up here.

Tonight is the Snow Moon full moon. No snow here, just lots of rain. It’s cloudy tonight, but I did manage to catch the moon reflected in the Winterbourne chalk stream last night.

Happy Imbolc! Imbolc marks the beginning of spring and the returning of the light. Spring is on its way.

I had planned to write a post about my word for the year but then the coat of hopes came along and it seemed like the appropriate way to start the new year. The words of the song that accompany the Coat of Hopes are ringing in my ears.

The video below has the second two lines of the chorus so you can hear the tune. The full words can be found here.

The project was the idea of the artist and activist Barbara Keal. The coat’s original journey was from Newhaven on the south coast, near Lewes, to Glasgow, in 2021, arriving in time for COP26. Along the way people added their patches, their hopes, to the Coat of Hopes. Now the coat is covered in these patches, images and words. And the act of walking with the coat brings communities together. To walk with the coat from the middle of Lewes, up the high street to Thomas Paine’s House, with a community of fellow walkers, felt like in itself a hopeful act. There is power when we come together, when we act together. When we take leaps of inspiration and action such as brought the coat into being in the first place.

The coat will rest in Lewes till the beginning of February, and will then continue from Lewes to the Isle of Wight. You can find out more about the coat and its future travels and how you can get involved here.

What are your hopes for the year? And what communities can help you to bring those hopes to life?

I have the seeds of a new project that I am nurturing so I will share more when the time is right. And word of the year post to come next!

One of my favourite things about Christmas when I was a child was unwrapping books, and then curling up on the sofa, losing myself in their pages. I’m fortunate both to have received books as a gift, and been encouraged in my reading (partly by not being allowed to watch TV, so reading was my go-to form of entertainment). I’m sure both of these things helped to nourish my dreams from an early age of being a writer. My other form of occupying myself was exploring the Derbyshire countryside around where I lived. So perhaps it is little wonder the two came together to make me a nature writer. (You can read my thoughts on can nature writing save the planet, and some of the books that shaped me and my writing here.)

I write in To Hear the Trees Speak about a Finnish Christmas Eve tradition, which involves visiting the cemetery and placing candles at the graves of departed loved ones. In Iceland there is a tradition of Jolabokaflod or the ‘Yule Book Flood’. Katherine May has written about it in this post. People gift books to be read on Christmas Eve, accompanied by hot chocolate. So if you want to start your own Jolabokaflod tradition or are looking for gifts for others or yourself, here are some tree-related suggestions.

Trees in Winter by Richard Shimell

I first heard about this book when Richard was on Clare Balding’s podcast, Ramblings. The book is not only a beautiful collection of his prints depicting the bare-leaved glory of winter trees, but also incorporates essays about his journey to becoming an artist and his connection with nature. A smaller sized edition, perfect for gifting, is also now available.

Best for: Those who admire the beauty of trees, and those looking for artistic inspiration

Tree Hunting by Paul Wood
A gift that will keep on giving all year. A compendium of 1,000 trees, highlighting trees in cities all over the UK, showcasing the sheer variety of our urban trees, and their fascinating stories. I was lucky enough to meet Paul a couple of times, when we were speaking at the same events, and he’s so knowledgeable and passionate about trees.

Best for: Tree collectors and tree-spotters – and all those who like to get to know trees across the UK.

To Hear the Trees Speak

Of course, it would be remiss of me not to mention To Hear the Trees Speak. A few people have mentioned that they it on their Christmas list, so I’m hoping that Santa delivers for them! The hardback and the audiobook are out now, and the paperback is available for preorder now, for delivery in mid-February.

Here’s what one reader review had to say:
“This book has changed the way I hang out with trees. Although I’ve always enjoyed the magic of forests and eagerly hoovered up facts about their mychorrizal networks and climate-regulating superpowers, I suppose I’ve always thought of trees as beautiful features in my environment rather than neighbours in my community - resources rather than relations.

Olivia’s fascinating encounters with trees around the world, from birch and beech to banyan and bodhi has helped me see them as elders (pun intended) with wisdom to share. This is a fact-packed book - who knew Sri Lanka had a Minister of Coconuts?! - but also a deeply thoughtful reflection on how to live, including how to be a parent in the wider sense - with or without kids. After savouring this joyful book, I find myself not only looking up AT trees but TO them.”

I’m so happy to hear from readers who say that it has changed the way that they not only look at but also how they interact with trees.

Best for: People looking to deepen their relationship with nature, as well as lovers of trees and travel!

The Almanac: A Seasonal Guide to 2026 by Lia Leendertz

Lia has been creating these almanacs for a number of years. I heard her talking about it in an event organised by the Tree Council to celebrate autumn and she said that the focus of the almanac this year was trees, so I had to buy one. I’m looking forward to diving into it a month at a time. Each month has a woodland recipe, folk tale and skill, as well as information about the moon and the night sky. She has also selected a tree per month to guide us through the year, with the birch tree being first up in January.

Best for: those looking to increase their connection to the seasons

The Language of Trees by Katie Holten

Katie Holten has created a beautiful alphabet of trees. She has used this to illustrate short essays and poems from a wide range of contributors, including Ada Limón, Amitav Ghosh, Suzanne Simard and Radiohead.

Best for: lovers of art, poetry and the philosophy of trees.

How to Read a Tree: Clues and Patterns from Roots to Leaves by Tristan Gooley

Tristan’s book is full of fascinating facts about trees which will help change the way you look at trees. Did you know that pointed tips are more common in wet regions, as it helps to channel rain off the leaf? Or that trees are grow more branches on their southern side, as this is the brightest, and then shed these branches as they grow. This leaves a mark which looks like an eye, ‘the southern eye’. I’ve often noticed these eyes looking at me, but hadn’t made the correlation that they were typically on the southern side of the tree.

Best for: observers of the natural world and nature detectives

Tree-spotting: A simple guide to Britain’s Trees by Ros & Nell Bennett

In this illustrated guide, Ros and Nell show you how to identify 52 British trees, along with sharing facts about the trees.

Best for: those in the UK who want to get to know native trees better.

Are there any other tree-related books that you are giving this year, or hoping to receive? I’d love to know!

A favour to ask:
If you have read ‘To Hear the Trees Speak’ and enjoyed it, I would so appreciate a review on Amazon, Goodreads, Waterstones or your favoured platform – it really helps other people to find the book. Thank you!

Paperback launch online - you’re invited!
The paperback edition of ‘To Hear the Trees Speak’ is coming out on 12 February 2026. You are invited to a free online celebration, hosted by the Tariki Trust, on Wednesday 11 February at 6pm GMT. I’d love to see you there! Book your place here.

Further reading suggestions:
You can find my recommended reading list for books about plant intelligence here.

The audio recording is of my reading of the three haiku in this article. Haiku, as with other forms of poetry, like to be read aloud!

The unexpectedness of the daisies jolted something in my brain. Why were they blooming now?

planted by fairies -
a dancing of daisy suns
in grey November

I continued on my walk. The hawthorn berries were to be expected, but there is such an abundance of them this year.

red hawthorn berries
drip in abundance -
winter sustenance

Further on, a glimpse of pink caught my eye.

tiny pink flowers
nestled on a collage of leaves -
draw eye to the ground

My previous post was about microdosing nature and taking photographs as a way to connect nature. Another approach is through a form of micropoetry, haiku, which can also be combined with photography.

PROMPT: Next time you go outside or go for a walk, keep an eye out for the unexpected. What does this jolt in your brain, what questions does it raise, what piques your curiosity? And maybe a haiku will form from those connections. If you do write a haiku or two, please share with us in the comments.

I believe each haiku, each photograph of nature, is an act of connection with the natural world, and an act of resistance in a world which seeks to persuade us this connection is not important, which simply wants us to be passive consumers of resources, rather than being creative and in relationship.

You can read more about my approach to writing haiku as a form of mindfulness in this post.

This week is also World Kindness Week, so I am resharing the poem I wrote in collaboration with Thembe Rain on the theme of kindness, ‘Teachings from the Mother Tree.’

Earlier that day, I’d had a call with three lovely people from my nature facilitation course. One of the group mentioned that sometimes she stepped outside her front door in the evening and took the time to look at the stars. The thought that came to my mind: “Microdosing nature.”

I’ve written before about the practice of sit-spots. Yet it can be hard to find the time in busy lives for a practice such as this. And there can be such power in taking the moments when we get them. I believe there’s great power in the intention, acknowledging what you are doing and the effect that it is having you. As you notice how it makes you feel, you are then more likely to want to do it again - and perhaps the time that you can give to it will expand.

Photography is one way that helps me to pay attention. Perhaps each picture that I share from my walks on Instagram is a microdose of nature. Here are a few suggestions on mindful nature photography:

• Take a breath before you take a picture to connect with the subject of the picture.

• Looking from different angles helps to reveal details that you may not notice on

  focus glance.

• Thank the subject of the photograph before you move on.

Of course, you don’t need to take a picture to microdose nature. But I find it can be one way to help bring me into the moment. That, and taking a conscious breath.

To share:

Walking, writing and trees

I recently had the opportunity to walk with and answer her thoughtful questions on walking, writing and, of course, trees. You can read the interview on her Substack (and see pictures of some very curious ponies, as well as the beech tree which is the final tree of To Hear the Trees Speak).

The Writer's Walk

Walking with Olivia Sprinkel, author

“It is our separation from nature which is the root cause of climate change, and there is an urgent need to heal this separation…

Read more

10 months ago · 7 likes · 2 comments

On communicating about sustainability and climate change

I loved being part of this conversation, I hope you enjoy it too.

“When nature is under stress, words are no longer just tools of communication; they become catalysts. Stories can stir empathy, and the right words can shape the world we want to protect. What happens when we stop telling the stories that put us to sleep and start telling those that wake us up? Hosted by Sangeeta Waldron, author of What Will Your Legacy Be? – Conversations With Global Change Makers About The Climate Crisis, this episode features guests Emily Buchanan (Send Flowers) and Olivia Sprinkel (To Hear The Trees Speak). Together they dive into climate grief, the art of listening to nature, and how words can shift heart, spark action, and keep hope alive.”

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Why Words Matter in Sustainability/Legacy

When nature is under stress, words are no longer just tools of communication; they become catalysts. Stories can stir empathy, and the right words can shape the world we want to protect. What happens when we stop telling the stories that put us to sleep and start telling those that wake us up? Hosted by Sangeeta Waldron, author of…

Listen now

10 months ago · 5 likes · 26

to watch the light change
on a patch of grass
the light to come and go
as softly and quietly as my breath
flows in and out

my breath which is not my breath
but the breathing of my lungs
of this rain-damp morning air

the raindrops on the grass light up
as clouds move on
and then dim again
as clouds cross the sun
these raindrops
water when the earth began and cycled
across continents, across times,
from savannah cloud to ocean
to mountain cloud
to piled high snow to river
to polluted sea to cloud to rain to cold ice
to deep lake
to cloud to rain drop landing on the leaf of a tree
falling to earth
meeting a root
travelling up inside a tree
and being released back into the air
to begin again

(A different kind of post this week, inspired by my garden sit-spot. Please let me know if you would like more poems and readings!)

One of the foundational practices that is suggested for nature connection is having a sit-spot. This simply involves going to the same place, ideally every day, or at least three times a week, and sitting there, again ideally for a minimum of twenty minutes. The idea is that through the repeated practice of visiting a place, and observing the changes there, we will develop a relationship with it and with the beings who live there.

In his poem, Coleman’s Bed, David Whyte seems to be describing an uber-sit spot.

“Be taught now, among the trees and rocks
how the discarded is woven into shelter
learn the way things hidden and unspoken
slowly proclaim their voice in the world.”

I would urge you to read the whole poem, it is so rich with resonance. David Whyte writes of how Coleman’s Bed is a place where the great Irish abbot and contemplative Coleman dwelt or slept. It took David twelve years of going there to realise the ‘layer after layer of invitation in the place.’ That sums up, for me, the invitation of the sit-spot - the invitation to keep diving deeper.

At the end of September, I went on a course with Change in Nature, where we were outside for six days, no walls in sight. Having a sit-spot was an invitation which came from this. For the last two weeks, I’ve sat outside for ten or twenty minutes every day, apart from one day when it was torrential rain. I’ve not landed on a sit-spot. I tried a local green space near where I lived, on the basis that it is five minutes walk away, so I am more likely to go there. Then one day, there was construction work happening and I thought that I didn’t want to listen to that for twenty minutes, so I went off to find another spot. I’ve tried my garden - I enjoy watching the sparrows and the goldfinches as they busy themselves flying to and fro, but I find myself thinking about what needs to be done with the garden (useful, but perhaps not the point of the exercise.) I’ve tried further afield, places which take 20 or 25 minutes to walk to, which are wilder (in the context of the south of England), but the distance means that I am unlikely to go there every day.

The conclusion I’m coming to as I write this is to pick one of the further spots and go there three times a week, and the other four days a week sit outside for 10-20 minutes. I take a walk every day, I am committed to keeping my move streak going on my watch, but there is something else to gain from sitting. And something else to give - in terms of giving my attention.

During this time while experimenting with sit-spots, I came across this quote from a Karl Ove Knausgaard essay, via Oliver Burkeman’s newsletter (my emphasis in bold).

“It feels as if the whole world has been transformed into images of the world, and has thus been drawn into the human realm, which now encompasses everything. There is no place, no thing, no person or phenomenon that I cannot obtain as image or information. One might think this adds substance to the world, since one knows more about it, not less, but the opposite is true: it empties the world, it becomes thinner. That’s because knowledge of the world and experience of the world are two fundamentally different things. While knowledge has no particular time or place and can be transmitted, experience is tied to a specific time and place and can never be repeated. For the same reason, it also can’t be predicted. Exactly those two dimensions – the unrepeatable and the unpredictable – are what technology abolishes. The feeling is one of loss of the world.”

This is what sit-spots or other ways of being outside give us if we are paying attention - this direct, rich experience of the world. The quote led me off to read the whole essay, which again I urge you do if interested. It is 16 pages long - I ended up printing it out because I wanted the opportunity to savour reading it away from a screen - and takes us exquisitely into Karl Ove Knausgaard’s exploration of this topic. He writes of the alienation from the world that is caused by our use of technology. He writes how the consumption of images have changed our relationship with nature, “we see it as an image, as something we aren’t part of, something which is out there and at the same time we have been drawn toward and are close to, familiar with.” This has implications for when we read about and see how forests are disappearing, the polar ice-caps are melting - “I know that it is happening - it’s not that I don’t believe it - but at the same time it is like it isn’t happening. It has a whiff of the abstract about it.” I recognise what he means by this. This was one of the reasons that led me to my journey to the trees - I wanted to see what was happening myself.

Karl Ove Knausgaard’s journey takes him to meet the writer James Bridle, author of Ways of Being, a book about different forms of nonhuman intelligence. James says to Karl Ove, “The reason why we are in the hopeless state we are in is that science doesn’t believe that what is unsayable is real.”

I think back to David Whyte’s words:

“Be taught now, among the trees and rocks
how the discarded is woven into shelter
learn the way things hidden and unspoken
slowly proclaim their voice in the world.”

Perhaps that is the invitation that is being extended to us - to keep coming back to direct experience, and listen to the hidden and unspoken, to the unsayable, and say what we hear as well as we can. Maybe there is some hope after all then.

Yesterday, I went to another sit-spot. A dragonfly was resting there on the bench, soaking in autumn sunshine.