Please join in for the May 2020 Writing From The Inside Out read-around sessions on Friday afternoons (t’s free, fun, a great way to share, and reading a poem is optional). If you have not registered, click the button below; and if you have registered, you do not need to register again, simply use the link sent to you in your confirmation email.

Register Here:

  1. Read the poem 

  2. Do your own reflection on it, noting what it inspires in you

  3. Feel free to use your own reflection as your prompt or…

  4. Use the selection of prompts below the poem

  5. Pick one that inspires you and write (feel free to use only one or write several poems using different prompts) or…

  6. Don’t use any of the provided prompts and follow your inspiration from wherever it comes

Next Class on Friday, May 22, 2020 will start at 4:00 PM

My Thoughts

It is no surprise we turn to nature for solace in troubled times or when in need of renewal. Nature is, itself, in perpetual renewal, welcoming decay and death with equal fervor as it does the life giving qualities of light, water, and air. The natural world tries to make use of everything transforming even the worst of what it does to itself and what we do to it into beauty. 

Mary Oliver’s poem reminds me of my own fondness of trees, especially the redwoods, towering in their majesty, giving way for coins of light to drop on the forest floor, and offering an air of reverence to my saturated senses. In their presence, I am nudged toward the hope of myself and the possibility of living it. And each time I am stunned with the reminder that, “it’s simple.“ I, too, am a part of nature, with the same capacity for renewal,  and, through its instruction, though I often fail at the attempt, I seek to transform my “wasted” life into beauty. Below I’ve included my poem, My Next Step, as an ode to the Redwoods.

When I Am Among The Trees
by Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beach, the Oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have a goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “stay a while.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come into the world
to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

—From Devotions
Selected poems of Mary Oliver

Week 7 Prompt Menu

  1. Go for a walk in nature and find something that, to you, gives off “hints of gladness.” Describe what it is and how it affected you.

  2. What is your relationship to the hope for yourself? Are you close to it or far from it? You can use the writing prompt: The hope for myself wants me to…

  3. What “saves you?” What in nature or in life “forgives you” or feels as if it redeems you in some way? 

  4. If you have the opportunity, find a spot in nature and “stay awhile,” until you hear something calling you or speaking to you. Write what it tells you.

  5. Describe what it might be like to be filled with light and shining? Where would the light go? What would it offer or provide? How would you live differently?

  6. Use the prompt: Walking slowly through the world, bowing often, I…

  7. Write whatever inspires you from the poem or elsewhere in life?

My Next Step

and the redwood giants
bow to each other
all around me, silencing
even the children,
who know this is
the house of God,

graced with little dappled
windows of light twinkling
on dewy twig-tips
as branch ends reach
across to each other
and drop flashing silver coins
on mossy rock and fallen needles
lighting the way for my next step…

Feet on the forest floor,
earth-chilled and tree-littered,
I take each step, gingerly,
giving time for heel and soil
to greet each other shyly,
as if they are forever lovers
finding each other
for the first time;

then I gently roll out my sole
to sink roots into life,
feeling moist moss
tickling toes and curling
up the sides of each foot
in a tiny embrace asking
nothing in return, like
whispering “I love you”
into a sleeping ear,

© Nick LeForce, All Rights Reserved
Previously published in:
Bearing Witness