Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing

Hear the words of Hal Borland: “Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.” These words are not mere poetry, but living wisdom drawn from the oldest of teachers — the natural world. Borland, a lover of earth and seasons, reminds us that if we would but observe with open eyes, Nature herself teaches us virtues more enduring than any book. The tree and the grass, common to all lands, embody the two great qualities needed for the journey of life: the slow strength of patience, and the quiet power of persistence.

The tree is the master of patience. It waits through years, even centuries, reaching skyward not in haste but with steady determination. It endures storms, lightning, drought, and winter’s chill, yet it does not rush its growth. Each ring within its trunk tells of seasons endured, of time accepted. To know the tree is to know that greatness is not born in an instant, but cultivated through long endurance. The wise, like the tree, root themselves deep and rise slowly, for they know that what is swift to rise is often swift to fall.

The grass, however, teaches another lesson: persistence. Mowed down, it grows again. Trampled by feet, it springs back. Burned by sun, cut by scythe, crushed by weight, still it returns. The strength of grass is not in towering stature but in relentless renewal. It does not despair when destroyed, nor cease its striving. To know the grass is to see that true resilience is not the absence of defeat, but the courage to rise again, again, and yet again.

History itself offers testimony to these truths. Think of Nelson Mandela, who in prison became like the tree — patient, waiting, enduring twenty-seven years of confinement, his spirit rooted in justice. And when at last he was freed, his persistence, like the grass, carried him through trial and challenge to build a nation. His life was both oak and meadow: slow in growth, unyielding in return. From him, as from Borland’s vision, we learn that the mightiest victories are not always those of speed, but of enduring faith and relentless renewal.

The wisdom of patience and persistence also speaks to the struggles of ordinary lives. The farmer waiting for harvest, the mother nurturing her child, the student laboring over his studies — all must learn the way of the tree, which does not demand tomorrow’s fruit today. And when life’s hardships cut them down, as the scythe cuts grass, they must rise again, for persistence is the hidden root of triumph. Without these two virtues, life withers. With them, even the smallest soul can achieve greatness.

The lesson, then, is this: walk into the world as a disciple of Nature. When your dreams seem delayed, remember the tree. Let your roots go deep, and trust the seasons to bring forth fruit in their time. When you fall or are cast down, remember the grass. Do not despair, but spring back, for persistence wears down even the hardest stone. In this way, life becomes not a battlefield of despair, but a garden of endurance.

Practical action is simple: cultivate stillness, as the tree does, learning to wait without bitterness. And cultivate resilience, as the grass does, rising after every fall without complaint. Spend time among the trees and the fields, and let their silent sermons shape your soul. For in every grove and meadow, you will see reflected the secret of survival and the art of triumph.

Thus, Hal Borland’s words stand as a teaching for all generations: “Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.” Let patience be your deep root, and persistence your green blade. Together, they will make you strong against storms, and eternal in spirit, like the living earth itself.