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Rain finally came and broke the dry spell that the beautiful Coast Salish rainforest I live in has been gasping through. It was one of the longest stretches of time on record this place has gone without rain.

My partner has noticed I've been "sad", and although I knew the excessive heat has been getting to me, reading this book made me realize it's really acute grief I'm wading through. And I'm not surprised and I guess I'm grateful to name it. I am mourning that this is the reality now - panting crows and ravens searching desperately for somewhere cool to land, cedars so dry that the fire halls have been water bombing them in the hopes that a single spark doesn't destroy the old giants of Stanley Park. Smoke every year. Billions of dead sea life cooked in their ancient homes. It never used to be like this.

Ok, that was heavy for the opening of a book review.
But it's the truth. I cried lots of times reading this. Some good, some bad.

"until we can grieve for our planet we cannot love it - grieving is a sign of spiritual health. But it is not enough to weep for our lost landscapes; we have to put our hands in the earth to make ourselves whole again. Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair. Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift." (pp. 327)

This is honestly one of the most beautiful books I have ever read. Please know that although right now I am dealing with grief, this book is hopeful - it's a beacon. My job is to now find my way back to hopeful, and make that grief something good.

I don't feel the need to say more except thank you Robin Wall Kimmerer. ��