Fall is in the air.  The days are getting shorter, the temperatures are getting cooler, and the school bus has started to drive by my house daily.  For me, Fall is the season of reflection around my dreams.  

The dreams I have pursued.
The dreams I have accomplished.
And perhaps even more importantly, the dreams I once had but somehow set aside.
It made me wonder...

When did we become so afraid to dream?

As children, dreaming seems to come naturally. We imagine. We pretend. We believe that anything might be possible.
Then somewhere along the way, the questions begin.

• Is that realistic?
• What will people think?
• Are you qualified?
• Can you really do that?
• Shouldn't you be doing something more practical?

And slowly, often without even realizing it...

We begin to let other people write the story of our lives.

We listen to what we should do.
What we ought to do.
What is expected of us.
Until one day, we may find ourselves wondering...

What happened to the dream I once had for myself?

For me, nature has played an unexpected role in helping me reconnect with my dreams. And looking back, I realize something important.

Nature didn't give me my dreams. It gave me the space and the courage to listen to them.

When I spend time in nature, something shifts.
The noise begins to quiet.
There are fewer voices telling me what I should be doing. Fewer distractions competing for my attention. Fewer reasons why an idea won't work.

And in that quiet, I begin to notice things...

• A curiosity.
• A nudge.
• A little
• A whisper that says,

Some of those whispers have led me down paths I never could have predicted.
To create nature sound baths.
To create a card deck.
To write a book.

None of those dreams arrived with a detailed map or a guarantee that I would know exactly what I was doing. They began as small ideas.
A spark.
A curiosity.
A whisper.
And I had a choice.
I could dismiss them.
Or I could get curious and see where they wanted to lead.

Nature doesn't demand that you know the entire path.

One of the things I love about nature is that it reminds me that life is always unfolding.

A seed doesn't need to know exactly how tall it will grow.

A river doesn't stand at its beginning demanding to see every turn before it begins to flow.

A path through the woods doesn't always reveal where it is leading until you are willing to walk far enough to see what is around the next bend.

Perhaps our dreams are a little like that.
We often think we need to know the entire plan before we begin.
Where will this lead?
Will it work?
What if I fail?
What if I change my mind?
But maybe those aren't the questions we need to answer first.
Maybe the first question is much simpler...

What is whispering to you right now?

What idea keeps coming back?
What possibility makes you feel just a little more alive?
What would you explore if you didn't have to know where it would lead?
Because you don't have to know exactly where the dream will take you.

You simply have to be willing to listen when it whispers.

This week, I invite you to try a Nature Dreaming experiment. Details below.

Giving you permission to dream,
Robin

Did this experiment spark your imagination? Make you curious? What parts inspired you?  What parts scared you?  Nature helps us wake up to what we already know or what we're ready to discover.

Join me at my upcoming workshop The Art of Nature Wisdom where you will learn how to connect deeper to nature and your dreams.

As a young child, I used to talk to the trees and the plants.

To me, it felt perfectly natural.

Then I started school.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that there were certain things you just didn't talk about. If you wanted to fit in, you learned to keep some parts of yourself quiet. You learned to blend in.

Fast forward to college. 

One day, I told my boyfriend that I could communicate with the family dog. His response?

"Never say that! People will lock you up and call you crazy!"

And honestly, that scared me.
So, what did I do?

I put that part of myself in the closet.

For years, I kept this ability and my curiosity about communicating with the natural world quietly hidden away.

Then, in 2012, I traveled to Guatemala.
There, I spent time with shamans who communicated with everything.
The plants.
The animals.
The land.
Even the weather.

And something inside me began to remember.
Maybe I wasn't strange.
Maybe I hadn't imagined it.
Maybe I had simply learned to stop listening.
Let's be honest.

If you're reading this newsletter, chances are you probably talk to your pets.

You ask them questions.
You tell them about your day.
You know when something isn't quite right.
And somehow, over time, you learn to understand one another even though you don't speak the same language.
Your dog may not answer you in English.
Your cat may have absolutely no interest in following your advice.
But communication still happens.
You learn their language.
The look in their eyes.
The change in their behavior.
The sounds they make.
The feeling you get when something just isn't right.
You pay attention.
You listen.
And eventually, a relationship develops.

So why does it seem so strange to suggest that we might communicate with a tree? Or a flower? Or the wind?

Perhaps the strange thing isn't that nature might communicate with us.
Perhaps the strange thing is that somewhere along the way, many of us were told...

• "You can't do that."
• "Don't say that."
• "That's silly."
• "That's crazy."


And so, little by little, we stopped paying attention.
We stopped listening.
We stopped asking questions.
We forgot that communication doesn't always require words.
A tree may not speak to you in a sentence.
A flower may not answer a question the way another person would.
The wind may not send you a text message. 🙂

But communication can happen in many ways.

• Through observation.
• Through sensation.
• Through curiosity.
• Through intuition.

Through spending enough time with something that you begin to recognize its patterns, rhythms, and language.  

Think about someone who spends years with horses.
Or a gardener who somehow knows exactly when her plants need attention.
Or a farmer who can sense a change in the weather before checking the forecast.
Is that communication? I think it can be.

And perhaps communicating with nature begins with something much simpler than we think. Perhaps it begins by being willing to say...Hello 🙂

To pause beside the tree instead of walking past it.
To notice the flower instead of simply calling it beautiful.
To sit outside long enough to hear what is happening around you.
And then...To listen.
Not because you expect a booming voice from the heavens.
But because you are curious about what might happen when you begin paying attention again.

This is at the heart of The Art of Nature Wisdom.
It isn't about convincing you to believe something.
It isn't about telling you what nature is saying.
And it isn't about giving you someone else's interpretation of the world around you.

It is about learning to develop your own relationship with nature.

Learning to observe.
Learning to listen.
Learning to communicate.
And perhaps most importantly...
Learning to trust your own experience.
Because maybe you don't have to learn how to communicate with nature. Maybe you already knew how. Maybe...

you just forgot that you could!

Curious if nature has something to tell you?  Join me in a little experiment this week (details below in the Weekly Oracle Card).  I would love to hear about your experience.

Inspired by nature, 
Robin

The Art of Nature Wisdom is an invitation to explore your relationship with the natural world in a deeper, more intentional way.
​
Together, we'll explore how to:

• Listen and pay attention in new ways
• Develop your own relationship with nature
• Explore different ways nature may communicate with you
• Move beyond memorized meanings and other people's interpretations
• Trust your own observations, intuition, and experiences
• Learn how to work with nature rather than simply observe it

You don't have to know how to do this.
You don't have to be an expert.
And you don't have to worry about whether you're "doing it right."
You simply need to be curious enough to begin.

Because perhaps communicating with nature isn't something you need to learn.
Perhaps it's something you are ready to remember.

If you're ready to explore what that might look like for you, I invite you to join me for The Art of Nature Wisdom.

This week, I had an unexpected reminder that sometimes the wisest thing we can do is simply...

stop and listen.

I had an 8:00 a.m. appointment with my cat Amilia at the vet. Nothing particularly unusual about that, although getting a cat to the vet is always an adventure in itself! After the appointment, I went to pay and the vet told me...

You should sit here for a while until the storm passes.

I wasn't aware of a storm coming, so I looked out the window.
Then I stepped outside to see if I could make it home before the storm arrived. But something felt off.
There was an eerie silence.
The air was completely still.
The sky had an unusual color.
And even though I couldn't explain exactly what I was sensing, something inside me said...

Don't go. Wait.

So, I went back inside. About five minutes later, the storm arrived.
The wind picked up. Heavy rain came down. The electricity flickered on and off. And there I sat in the vet's office with two other pet owners and their dogs for about 1 hour. And here's the funny part...

We were all completely calm.

Nobody was panicking.
Nobody was trying to figure out how to get home.
We simply sat there and waited for the storm to pass.
I had a coffee and a cinnamon roll.
One of the dogs apparently decided the cinnamon roll looked pretty good, too, and tried to get a sample from me. 
And for a little while, that vet's office became our unexpected shelter from the storm.
As I sat there, I realized something.

The storm didn't need me to stop it.

I didn't need to control it.
I didn't need to understand it.
I simply needed to recognize that it was time to pause and find a safe place to wait.
And nature had given me plenty of clues.
The silence.
The stillness.
The sky.
That feeling in my body that said, Wait.
I just had to listen.

Nature Has Your Back

This experience reminded me of something I love about working with nature. Nature is constantly communicating with us. Not necessarily with words but...
- Sometimes it's through a feeling.
- A change in the wind.
- The behavior of an animal.
- A sudden moment of stillness.
- The way a particular tree catches your attention.
- Or simply that quiet inner knowing that says...

Not yet. Go this way. Stop. Wait. Look.

We live in a world that encourages us to keep moving. To...
- Solve the problem.
- Make the decision.
- Get to the next thing.
- Push through.

But sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is pause long enough to notice what is already being communicated to us.
And perhaps that's one of the greatest gifts nature offers us...

the reminder that we don't have to navigate every storm alone.

This is one of the experiences I hope to create through...

The Art of Nature Wisdom - Foundational Weekend
Learning to Listen, Connect, and Trust


The Art on Nature Wisdom isn't about escaping the storms of life.

Storms are part of life. 

It's about developing a deeper relationship with nature, and with yourself, so you can become more aware of the subtle messages, sensations and intuitive nudges that are already around you.

It's about slowing down.
Listening.
Reconnecting.
Trusting.

And remembering that there is support available to you, even when you can't yet see exactly where the path is leading.

Because nature has your back.
Sometimes it whispers.
Sometimes it nudges.
And occasionally, apparently, it sends a vet to tell you...

You should sit here for a while until the storm passes.

I'm learning to listen.
And I'm inviting you to listen, too.


The Art of Nature Wisdom is an opportunity to explore that relationship more deeply, to reconnect with nature, your intuition, and the wisdom that becomes available when you slow down enough to hear it.

If you've been feeling called to spend more time with nature, strengthen your intuitive connection, or simply create more space to listen to yourself, I'd love to have you join me.

Sometimes the next step isn't to move forward.

Sometimes the next step is simply to

sit down, have a cup of coffee, share a cinnamon roll with a very hopeful dog, and let the storm pass.

With a little moxie and a lot of nature,
Robin