I've always loved the woods, and I've always loved gardening and

The words “I’ve always loved the woods, and I’ve always loved gardening and a lot of solitude and quiet” were spoken by Lizz Wright, the American jazz and gospel singer whose voice carries the earthiness of the soil and the stillness of a prayer. In these gentle yet profound words, Wright opens a window into her soul — a soul that finds refuge not in applause or lights, but in silence, nature, and solitude. This is more than a personal preference; it is a declaration of how the human spirit restores itself when it turns away from noise and returns to the eternal rhythm of creation. For in the woods, in gardening, and in quiet, one rediscovers not only peace but also the self that the world so easily scatters.

To love the woods is to love mystery — the breathing silence between the trees, the secret dialogue between wind and leaf, the soft heartbeat of the earth beneath one’s feet. Wright’s love for nature reveals her recognition of something ancient: that the Divine speaks most clearly in still places. The woods are her cathedral, the garden her meditation. There, the soul need not perform; it need only exist. In an age of endless motion and distraction, she reminds us that solitude is not emptiness — it is presence without demand, the sacred space where the heart and the universe finally speak the same language.

Her mention of gardening deepens the meaning of her words. To garden is to participate in creation — to touch the sacred process by which life renews itself. It is an act of faith and patience, for the gardener cannot rush the sun nor command the rain. Each seed planted is a silent prayer, a promise of trust in the unseen. Lizz Wright, in her garden, is not merely tending plants; she is tending her soul. Like the ancient monks who cultivated herbs while reciting psalms, she finds in this humble labor a rhythm of worship. The soil becomes her scripture, and each bloom, a verse of gratitude.

The solitude and quiet she cherishes are not the loneliness of exile, but the wholeness of return. True solitude is not the absence of others — it is the presence of oneself. Many throughout history have sought this kind of quiet to hear the voice within: Henry David Thoreau, who retreated to Walden Pond to learn “what life had to teach,” and Thomas Merton, who found divine truth within the silence of a monastery. Like them, Wright understands that creative power flows not from constant noise but from inner stillness. The artist, the thinker, and the seeker all drink from the same well — the quiet that nourishes vision.

This love of silence is also a form of strength. In the modern world, where noise is equated with relevance, the one who chooses quiet stands apart as courageous. The woods may seem empty to the hurried soul, but to the patient one, they are full — of whispers, of wisdom, of wonder. It is there that the soul remembers its origins, its humility, and its vastness. Lizz Wright’s preference for solitude is not retreat, but renewal — the reclaiming of her energy so she might pour it into her music and her life with authenticity.

In her words, we find the timeless wisdom of balance — between action and rest, sound and silence, presence and withdrawal. The woods and the garden are not escapes from life; they are its sanctuary, where the heart learns again how to breathe. Those who live constantly in noise lose the depth of listening; those who seek constant company lose the intimacy of self. But the one who dares to walk among trees, to kneel in soil, to sit in quiet — that one rediscovers both the world and the sacred within it.

The lesson is clear and enduring: in order to live fully, one must sometimes step away. The heart that learns to be still grows stronger, and the mind that listens deeply becomes wise.

Practical actions: Spend time each week in solitude — in a park, a garden, or simply a quiet room. Disconnect from the world’s noise long enough to hear your own thoughts. Tend to something living — a plant, a song, or an act of kindness — and let it teach you patience. Walk among trees without speaking; let nature remind you of peace. For as Lizz Wright teaches us, the soul blossoms not in the crowd, but in the still, sacred spaces where silence becomes song and solitude becomes strength.