From Writing Down The Bones by Natalie Goldberg
[ begin ID: About ten years ago I decided I had to learn the names of plants and flowers in my environment. I bought a book on them and walked down the tree-lined streets of Boulder, examining leaf, bark, and seed, trying to match them up with their descriptions and names in the book. Maple, elm, oak, locust. I usually tried to cheat by asking people working in their yards the names of the flowers and trees growing there. I was amazed how few people had any idea of the names of the live beings inhabiting their little plot of land.
When we know the name of something, it brings us closer to the ground. It takes the blur out of our mind; it connects us to the earth. If I walk down the street and see "dogwood," "forsythia," I feel more friendly toward the environment. I am noticing what is around me and can name it. It makes me more awake.
If you read the poems of Williams Carlos Williams, you will see how specific he is about plants, trees, flowers chicory, daisy, locust, poplar, quince, primrose, black-eyed Susan, lilacs each has its own integrity. Williams says, "Write what's in front of your nose."
Learn the names of everything: birds, cheese, tractors, cars, buildings. A writer is all at once everything—an architect, French cook, farmer and at the same time, a writer is none of these things. /end ID]