Language does two things
too well —
it categorizes and organizes.
I walk out and say, this is a tree.
That is the sky.
A rock, a dog, a child.
And in adhering this string of symbols to a thing,
I know so much.
Or think I know so much.
The tree, now green, will lose its leaves in winter
because that’s what “trees” do.
But this tree is a Live Oak
and it will stay green, deep green, all year.
It will store thriftily in its roots
the water of the short rain season.
And despite its thirst, it will provide
shade to California’s refugees
in the summer drought,
and the autumn smoke,
and the winter flood.
But I couldn’t know this from a word.
I know this from a conversation with a botanist
who reads the weather forecast with too heavy a heart,
and from the tree frog
who kept the rhythm going
while the towhee and junco sang me their mythologies.
—
Schuyler Laparle is a writer and a linguist. As a linguist, they research the ways in which language shapes and is shaped by our interactions with the world. As a writer, they explore the ways in which our current society alienates us from each other and the earth. They are also the coordinator of the Outside My Window project, a collaborative art project that invites people to imagine a more compassionate, sustainable, and just world.
