Featured Poems from Nature's Whispers

A small glimpse into the collection

Nature's Whispers is a hygge poetry collection about slowing down, stepping outside, and learning to notice the living world again. These selected poems and excerpts offer a first glimpse into the book — quiet observations for those who find meaning in small things, and beauty in what is easily overlooked.

For those who rise before the world does

The poem"The First Light of Dawn"

The first light came

low over the fields,

a thin grey loosening

at the edge of the dark.

Grass leaned under dew.

A gate stood open

where no one had passed.

On the fence post,

a blackbird

held its small black weight

against the morning.

For a while it did nothing.

The hills kept their blue distance.

The road to the village appeared slowly,

one pale edge, then another.

My boots darkened in the wet grass.

Cold reached through my sleeves.

The bird opened its beak.

The first note came,

thin and certain,

and the day

moved closer

through the wet grass.

For those who crouch down to look more closely

The poem"The Narrow Path in the Grass"

Behind the villa,

past the woodpile and the red shed,

the path narrowed into grass.

I went there alone before breakfast,

still in yesterday's jumper,

my shoes already dark at the toes.

Clover grew thick beside the ditch,

each leaf holding a small cold bead of sky.

I crouched without knowing I was praying.

A snail moved through the stems,

leaving its silver thread over green.

From the house, no one called.

The grown-ups were already busy with their day.

Somewhere deeper in the birches,

a bird shook rain from a branch.

I stayed there until my knees were wet,

until the snail had crossed from one leaf to another,

until the road behind me

felt farther away than it was.

For those who know a garden is never really still

Excerpt from the poem"The Sleeping Bumblebee"

Inside the foxglove,

the bumblebee had gone still.

Its back filled the purple throat of the flower,

dark fur dusted with yellow,

one leg hooked over the spotted lip.

The bell bent under its weight.

Around it, the garden went on:

gnats lifting above the parsley,

a cabbage white blundering over the beans,

water ticking from a cracked pot into the soil.

The bee did not stir.

Only the foxglove moved, slowly.

For those who remember watching the world as a child

The poem "The Dandelion Clock"

Beside the school fence,

the dandelion stood on its thin green stem,

round-headed, white with loosened seeds.

The yard behind it was empty,

one red ball left under the bench,

a jumper hanging from the lowest branch of the lime tree.

A child came back through the gate alone,

knees dusty, one shoelace undone.

She crouched before the dandelion

as if it were something that might answer.

Then she blew.

The clock broke open.

Seeds lifted into the light,

some rising, some falling at once,

one caught in the fence wire,

one turning over the black mouth of a drain,

one landing on the child's sleeve

and staying there

while she held her breath.

For those who feel the world lower its voice at the end of the day

The poem "Nature's Whispers"

The path through the beech wood

was worn, nearly hidden

where the green leaned over it.

I followed it without hurrying.

A rowan stood near the bend,

red berries bright in the dimming light,

each cluster wet from rain.

Under it, blackbirds moved through fallen leaves,

turning the brown earth with quick, serious beaks.

Farther on, the beech trees closed above me.

Green light remained there,

not much,

only what the leaves had saved from the day.

Roots crossed the path like dark hands

held still in the soil.

I stepped over them.

Somewhere ahead, water moved

under stones, under fern,

under the hush of the wood.

I could not see it.

I heard it finding its way through the dark.

Then a leaf fell.

One leaf,

yellow at the edge,

turning slowly through the green air

before it landed in the hollow beside a root.

No bird called. No branch broke.

Even the water seemed farther away.

I stood there while evening entered the trees,

and the small leaf, newly fallen,

lay bright on the old earth

as if the whole world

had lowered its voice to place it there.

If these poems speak to something in you, the full collection is now on Amazon.

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