As we traipse through the world, it should be our objective not only to notice but to name the flower and stem and furry animal scratching in the leaves. To call on the raven or barn owl as creatures distinct from one another and ourselves.

"Hold moth names in mouth and mind a while – Satin Lutestring, Willow Ermine, Feathered Thorn and Seraphim, Forester and Dusky Clearwing – sing them out into the night to give moths back their range, their flight." Words and illustration by Robert Macfarlane and Jackie Morris for The Lost Spells.

"Naming deepens knowledge and encourages closer distinctions in what we see," wrote Robin Lane Fox in his devoted essays on gardening as a mind-expanding activity. Indeed, the infinite variety of life - forensically organized by name - acts as a means to order, understand, and ultimately embrace.   Consider Charles Darwin's voyage to the wilds of South America where he discovers the robust local flora and fauna and has almost as much joy at detailing their names (creatively conceived by local inhabitants) as he does their features.   
When he was a child, physicist Richard Feynman was introduced by his father to the concept of inertia without knowing it was called 'inertia.'   
"The general principle is that things that are moving try to keep on moving and things that are standing still tend to stand still unless you push on them hard."   
The anecdote underscores the essence of names; that while a name matters, knowing something/someone matters a lot more.

But as The Lost Words, a collaboration between the writer Robert Macfarlane and illustrator Jackie Morris, sorrowfully informs us, "Once upon a time, words began to vanish from the language of children..."

They disappeared so quietly that, at first, no one noticed - fading away like water on stone. The words were those that children used to name the natural world around them: acorn, adder, bluebell, bramble, conker - gone!" Fern, heather, kingfisher, otter, raven, willow, wren...all of them gone! The words were becoming lost: no longer vivid in children's voices, no longer alive in their stories.

 Illustration by Jackie Morris.

Bramble

Bramble is on the march again,
Rolling and arching along the hedges, into parks, and on the city edges.
All streets are suddenly thick with briar: cars snarled fast, business over.
Moths have come in their millions, drawn to the thorns, the air flutters.
Bramble has reached each house now, looped it in wire. People lock doors and close shutters.
Little shoots steal through keyholes to leave - in quiet halls,
Empty stairwells - bowls of bright blackberries where the light falls.

Like any language, this vocabulary of the natural world is best acquired when young. I walked the Michigan woods with my grandfather; his rich voice defined the beech, ash, and oak until I could do the same by sight. Until his recent death, we spoke about the specifics of nature - I recall a pleasurable discussion on muskrats and mink.

It was a language of communion and connection I will teach my daughters.

"Dazzle me, little sun-of-the-grass!" Illustration by Jackie Morris.

This imaginative book returns these familiar words to our tongues - children and adults alike.

"No one forms new words any more," lamented John Steinbeck in one of his last writings; between us, there are secrets, "not kept a secret, but locked in wordlessness." Words unused are words gone.

In our quest for self-expression, we push against the boundaries of the unsayable. We are connected across geography and time by words. An acorn is an acorn is an acorn... And from one acorn a thousand forests, promised Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Acorn

As flake is to blizzard, as
Curve is to sphere, as knot is to net, as
One is to many, as coin is to money, as bird is to flock, as
Rock is to mountain, as drop is to fountain, as spring is to river, as glint is to glitter, as
Near is to far, as wind is to weather, as feather is to flight, as light is to star, as kindness is to good, so acorn is to wood.

Although much of the magnificence in The Lost Words are creatures found in England, it is nonetheless a melody to see all of nature: near and far, seen and hidden. Morris' gilded illustrations hoist us into another world of herons, owls, adders, and minks.

"Fern's first form is furled..." Illustration by Jackie Morris.

Magpie

Magpie Manifesto:
Argue Every Toss!
Gossip, Bicker, Yack, and Snicker All Day Long!
Pick a Fight in an Empty Room!
Interrupt, Interject, Intercept, Intervene!
Every Magpie for Every Magpie against Every Other Walking Flying        Swimming Creeping Creature on Earth!

Add to this bright collection the lovely assortment of words we always wished existed (and do outside of English) and the thoughtful conjurings of Annie Dillard, whose books speak the language of nature to all who listen, and Rachel Carson, whose unique gift it was to see fairylands in lichen.

"Cabinet-maker, could you craft me a conker? Oil its wood, burnish its veneer, set it glowing from within?" Illustration by Jackie Morris.

Kingfisher: the colour-giver, fire-bringer, flame-flicker, river's quiver
Ink-black bill, orange throat, and a quick blue back-gleaming feather-stream.
Neat and still it sits on the snag of a stick, until with...
Gold-flare, wing-fan, whipcrack the kingfisher - zingfisher, singfisher! - 
Flashes down too fast to follow, quick and quicker carves its hollow
In the water, slings its arrow super swift to swallow
Stickleback or shrimp or minnow.
Halcyon is its other name - also ripple-calmer, water-nester,
Evening angler, weather-teller, rain bringer and
Rainbow bird - that sets the stream alight with the burn and glitter!

There is so much language to be found, unearthed, and renewed. So many words to be spoken and taught. So much wonder is to be sought.