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Start feeling more grounded—in just a few minutes a day.
Download the free 7-Day Nature Reconnection Guide and begin gently regulating your nervous system through simple, research-informed practices—no forest required.
We respect your space.
No spam. No noise. Just occasional, grounding emails with reflections, practices, and seasonal insights. Unsubscribe anytime—no hard feelings.
Singing with the Tui: A Moment of Deep Connection in the Forest
- May 19, 2025
I was maybe nineteen, fresh off a plane after six months wandering around Europe. Cities, subways, grey streets, galleries. All of it had been exciting, overwhelming, mind-expanding—but I’d had enough of buildings and noise.
So I went home.
Not to a house, exactly—but to the forest. The hills I grew up in. The place that raised me. I headed straight into the bush, like my body had been holding its breath all that time and could finally exhale.
I climbed up a thousand-year-old Kauri tree. Just me, some moss, and the sky.
I sat there, quiet, and listened.
After a while, I heard them—a group of Tui, their voices full of clicks and warbles and bell-like notes, calling to each other through the canopy.
On impulse, I called back.
I mimicked their song. Probably clumsy at first. But they stopped. Paused. Then started again.
So I did too. This time, changing my tone just a little.
They mimicked me. I mimicked them.
We sang to each other like that for about an hour. I’m not sure if they knew what I was saying, or if I knew what they were. Maybe it didn’t matter.
It felt like a meeting. An exchange. Not in words, but in presence.
It was one of the most magical moments of my life.
No photo, no proof. Just breath, birdsong, and bark under my hands.
And that’s stayed with me, quietly echoing ever since.
—Sol
About the Author
Sol Reed
Sol Reed is a queer writer, seasonal observer, and student of the more-than-human world. Raised between coastal dunes and eucalypt forest, Sol writes at the quiet intersection of grief, presence, and place—where reconnection is less a goal and more a remembering.
Their reflections draw from deep ecology, folk wisdom, and the subtle patterns of the Earth’s turning. With a background in arts education and storytelling, Sol invites readers into slower rhythms, deeper noticing, and the sacred ordinary of everyday nature.
Sol lives on Yuin Country in a handbuilt cabin near the sea, where they grow herbs, write by the tides, and believe that belonging is something we practise.
