explore  biotic community 

I will never again be the person I was when I wrote those poems or took those photographs.

Botanical life will always be here, growing over what we leave behind and returning it to the earth. from Healing Energies on the...

If we more thoroughly understood the kinship between everything around us, how would that change our relationships with the world? Is...

Every time I wandered around a cemetery as a kid, I felt calm. Inspired, even. My dad guided me through the history, telling stories of...

Environmental Philosopher Kathleen Dean Moore poses the question, “What would you be willing to spend your whole life taking care of?” At...

Mesmerized, I arrive at the Rose Creek Nature Preserve. It feels like I have travelled hours or days to get here and not the fifteen...

“The real gift of these photographs is the way they limn what’s possible by marking what’s past.”

Sweeping across dirt, the cold breeze tugs at brown, waterlogged leaves. It rained yesterday. Small red berries, like bits of melon,...

The sun sets on wrinkled rose hips. They bob beside the tracks approaching Grand Avenue while underneath a leafless tree floats a ghost...

As I open the door of my car, the beetle rushes by. It hobbles over the pebbles baked into the asphalt, speeding over the yellow parking...

The fly rests near the ragged, juicy plum skin, wind coursing over its iridescent thorax. Stripes of moss fill cracks on the wooden...

The two-striped grasshopper waits while the wind gusts, and the crabapple tree whispers through its leaves. The clouds speed across the...

new eco-collaborations are taking hold as students and contributors work together to create new lenses onto the wild edge spaces as sites...

by Lindsey Shannon In John Walton’s poem, “I stopped as if I knew anything,” he writes about Missouri Flat Creek and the awe he felt...

The campus canopy has many benefits & it's a good time to check in with these trees. As with public spaces everywhere, social life on...

If being near a river overwhelms you with feelings of love, you intuitively grasp how we humans belong to rivers, and how rivers connect us.

This place still holds its ethos of healing.

She had used rose hips as one of the dyes during summer; they were sunken and blackening beneath the frost now...

I dig in my coat pocket and find the slip of printed paper with Walton’s poem.