In nature, there is less death and destruction than death and

“In nature, there is less death and destruction than death and transmutation.” Thus spoke Edwin Way Teale, the great naturalist and chronicler of the living Earth, whose eyes saw beyond the decay of things into the secret rhythm of renewal. In this serene and wondrous statement, he unveils one of the oldest truths known to the wise: that nature does not die—it changes. What appears as loss is only transformation; what seems destruction is but the shifting of life’s form, the turning of the eternal wheel that births new creation from old endings.

The origin of this quote lies in Teale’s lifelong devotion to the study of the natural world. He was a poet of observation, one who wandered through fields, forests, and deserts, not as a conqueror, but as a pilgrim of wonder. Having lived through the turbulence of the twentieth century—with its wars, its waste, its violence—he turned to nature as his teacher, finding in it a law that stood in quiet contrast to human fear. Where man saw death, nature revealed transmutation—a divine recycling through which nothing is truly lost, only reborn in another form.

To understand Teale’s wisdom, one must see through the surface of things. The fallen leaf is not dead—it feeds the soil that will nourish next spring’s bloom. The animal that perishes in the forest becomes the sustenance of others. The burned field, black and silent, gives birth to new green shoots after the rain. In every ending, nature conceals a beginning; in every decay, a silent act of creation. Thus, Teale teaches us that life and death are not opposites, but two faces of the same eternal process. Where the ignorant see ruin, the awakened see transformation.

This truth has echoed through the ages. When Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor of Rome, meditated upon mortality, he wrote that all things “dissolve and change into the elements from which they came.” Likewise, the sages of the East saw transmutation as the sacred flow of existence: water becoming mist, fire becoming ash, the body returning to earth. Even the stars themselves, in their dying, scatter the elements that will one day form new suns, new worlds, new life. There is no true death in the universe—only the eternal migration of energy, the ceaseless conversation of matter and spirit.

Consider, too, the story of the forest fire, feared as the destroyer of life. To human eyes, it brings devastation—a wasteland of ash and silence. Yet to the forest itself, it is renewal. The heat releases seeds long sealed within cones, waiting for the fire’s touch to awaken them. The ashes enrich the soil; the cleared land drinks the sunlight anew. In a few seasons, green returns—stronger, more vibrant, more diverse. Thus, what we name destruction is often nature’s act of purification, the breath before rebirth.

Teale’s words, though born in the language of the naturalist, carry a message for the soul. For within us, too, there must be transmutation—the dying of old habits, old fears, old selves. Each sorrow we endure, each loss we grieve, becomes fertile soil for growth if we allow it. The wise do not cling to what must fade; they understand that endings are teachers, and that pain, when faced with courage, becomes transformation.

The lesson, then, is this: fear not change, and despair not at endings. See the greater pattern. In your own life, when something falls away—whether love, health, or hope—remember that nature wastes nothing. What feels like death is but the reshaping of life. Trust the cycle; surrender to the rhythm that governs both forest and heart.

So, O seeker of truth, remember the wisdom of Edwin Way Teale: the universe does not destroy—it transforms. Let every loss become your renewal; let every ending teach you how to begin again. For just as the earth turns decay into blossom, so too can the human spirit transmute sorrow into strength. Nothing truly dies beneath the sun; everything changes its form, and through that sacred change, life forever endures.