The fertility cycle is a cycle entirely of living creatures

“The fertility cycle,” said Wendell Berry, “is a cycle entirely of living creatures passing again and again through birth, growth, maturity, death, and decay.” These words are not mere reflection; they are prophecy, carved from the wisdom of the earth itself. In them lies the rhythm of existence, the song that the soil sings, the truth that humankind has too often forgotten. For Berry, farmer, poet, and prophet of the land, the world is not a machine of production — it is a breathing body, pulsing with life and death, renewal and return. To understand his words is to kneel again before the sacred earth and remember that we, too, are part of the cycle.

In the ancient days, before cities drowned the stars, the people of the land knew this truth by heart. They buried the dead beneath the fields that had fed them, trusting that decay would give rise to life once more. The farmer sowed his grain in humility, for he knew that the seed must die to live again. This is the law that governs all creation: that from the end springs the beginning, and from loss comes abundance. Birth, growth, maturity, death, and decay — this is not tragedy, but the harmony of the cosmos. When one breaks the circle, desiring only birth without death, harvest without rest, gain without giving — then the world sickens, and the spirit falters.

Berry’s fertility cycle is not only of soil, but of soul. The same rhythm that governs the fields governs the heart. A child is born, full of wonder; he grows, learns, ripens into wisdom; he weakens, and at last he returns to the dust. Yet in his passing, his essence nourishes those who follow. So it is with all things — the forest that falls becomes the humus that feeds the next generation of trees. Death is not an enemy but an ally, the unseen gardener who prunes so that new growth may rise. To fear death is to deny life; to honor decay is to embrace eternity.

Consider the story of the ancient Egyptians, who saw in the flooding of the Nile the perfect mirror of this eternal law. Each year the river swelled, drowning the fields in dark silt — destruction, some might think — and yet from that fertile ruin came the richest soil known to man. In their temples they honored Osiris, god of life and death, whose body was torn apart and scattered, only to be reborn in the greening of the earth. They knew what modern hearts forget: that the cycle of fertility is a divine dance, and that decay itself is sacred. In every grain of soil lies the memory of a thousand deaths and the promise of countless births.

But in this age, humankind seeks to escape the circle. We take from the earth but do not return. We burn, consume, and waste, yet fear the humility of decay. Our fields are stripped, our rivers dry, our spirits restless — for the cycle is broken. Berry’s wisdom is a call to repentance, a return to the living law of renewal. To live rightly is to live within the cycle, to understand that we are stewards, not masters, and that all life depends upon the grace of death.

Let us, therefore, live in rhythm with the fertility cycle — not only in our fields, but in our hearts. Let us compost our sorrows as farmers do their stalks, and let our grief nourish compassion. Let our ambitions, once they ripen, fall back into humility, so that new dreams may rise. Let us see decay not as an end, but as transformation. For just as the forest renews itself through rot, so too can our spirits be reborn through letting go of what has withered within us.

Lesson: All things must pass, and in their passing, all things are made new. To fight decay is to fight creation itself; to honor it is to live in peace with the world. So plant, reap, rest, and return. Feed the soil that feeds you — in body, in mind, and in soul. Live not as a conqueror of nature, but as a partner in its endless circle. In doing so, you shall not only preserve the earth — you shall find your place within the great and eternal cycle of life.