A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire, in

Hal Borland, the naturalist whose pen breathed reverence for the earth, once proclaimed: “A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire, in magnitude at least, but a single tree is like a dancing tongue of flame to warm the heart.” This is no idle remark about autumn—it is a meditation on the grandeur of the collective and the intimacy of the singular. He saw that the world contains both the overwhelming spectacle that stuns the eye, and the tender detail that stirs the soul. Both are necessary, both are sacred.

O listener, consider the woodland in autumn, when hills blaze in red, gold, and orange. The sight overwhelms, as if the whole earth were aflame. Like a forest fire, it is immense, consuming the horizon, filling the sky with radiance. Yet such grandeur, while awe-inspiring, can feel distant, a vision too vast for the heart to hold. And so Borland turns our gaze to the single tree, its branches aflame with color, each leaf flickering like a tongue of fire. This tree, unlike the mass of the woodland, speaks directly to the human spirit, warming it as a hearth warms the weary traveler.

Here lies a lesson about scale and intimacy. The greatness of nations, movements, or natural spectacles may stir our admiration, but it is the small, individual flame that touches us personally. History shows this truth. The march of armies may change maps, but it is often the courage of a single soul that changes hearts. Recall Rosa Parks, who, like a solitary tree among a forest of injustice, refused to move from her seat. Her act was no sweeping spectacle at first, but a single flame, warming the hearts of millions and sparking a fire for freedom. The woodland of civil rights became glorious, but it began with the light of one.

Borland’s imagery also reveals the nature of beauty itself. The forest fire dazzles by sheer force, but the tree kindles intimacy. In this, he teaches us to value not only what is vast but also what is near. Too often, people chase the grandeur of spectacle—seeking great achievements, immense possessions, wide renown. Yet the true warmth of life often comes from what is small: a kind word, a friend’s loyalty, a single act of love. These are the “dancing flames” that sustain the human heart.

In his own life, Hal Borland wrote for those who had forgotten how to look at nature closely. He sought to awaken in readers the reverence for detail—the bird’s song at dawn, the curve of a branch, the flicker of light on water. For him, to notice a single tree was to reconnect with the essence of living. The spectacle of a woodland could inspire awe, but the closeness of one tree inspired love. Awe may lift us for a moment, but love sustains us for a lifetime.

The wisdom here stretches beyond the forest. In families, in friendships, in societies, we may marvel at the strength of the whole, but it is the warmth of the individual relationship that gives meaning. A city may be vast, but a neighbor’s kindness makes it livable. A nation may be powerful, but a single leader’s courage makes it just. Like the single tree, such souls become hearths where the weary gather for comfort and strength.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, learn to honor both the woodland and the tree. Let the grandeur of the collective fill you with awe, but never lose sight of the single flame that can warm the heart. Do not despise the small, for in the small lies intimacy, and in intimacy lies life. Seek out the beauty of the single tree, the quiet flame of kindness, and let it nourish you.

For in the end, Borland’s words remind us: life is both spectacle and closeness, both majesty and intimacy. Admire the blazing woodlands of the world, but do not forget to stand beneath one tree and let its flame warm your heart. For it is often the single flame, not the roaring fire, that sustains the soul through the long night.