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I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. When my son was younger, he loved to collect what he called nature treasures. Pinecones, acorns, stones, seashells. I'd find them when I emptied his pockets doing the laundry. I'd find them in my purses and coat pockets where he'd slipped them for me to discover myself. He's in middle school now and he's outgrown this for the most part, but not entirely. Sometimes he still brings me a wildflower, an unusual feather or a stone he notices, and as a little wink and a nod to his younger self, he still calls them nature treasures. My house is full of them now on our many bookshelves, on the mantel in the living room, on the dressers in my bedroom. Feathers, rocks, dried flowers, scrolls of sycamore bark which rolls up when it falls off the tree. We even have a whole collection of abandoned birds nests. The smallest can fit in the palm of my hand. My friend Kate lives in Arizona and she stopped by to visit us a few years ago when she was driving cross country. She brought with her some nature treasures from the desert. So now our collection includes snakeskin, dried cactus ribs and some sun bleached bones. What kind of bones? I have no idea. They're so white, so clean, it's easy to forget what they are. It's easy to lump them in with stones and gloss over the fact that they were part of an animal snakeskin and feathers are shed by living things. But bones? If you find bones, you're looking at part of a creature that is no longer living. Still, they're beautiful, at least to me. I don't find them morbid. Today's poem explores both the beauty and the brutality and decay. Native Grasses by Lynelle Edwards Happenstance and Following the animal path, I find the antler shed in the parlance of the field, its fine tip angling to the sky. I step to lift it from its nest of rotted leaves and brittle weeds. The beast that lost it, long gone, rubbed it loose against a low limb, has moved on smooth matte, white, hard as the root bone. It is a single point, one year's growth. I slip it in my jacket, steal back to the trail. Later I make a counting of the day. Quail's nest, seed pod, spent cocoon, a complete unfractured skull I hang in the bare branches of a hackberry tree, totem of dominion, the spine I let lie and damp native grasses. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. And find us on Instagram @downdownshow and bluesky.downdownshow.org. Hi, it's Maggie. The Slowdown is the only poetry podcast in public media. That means your support is vital to keep us going. No matter how much you give, your contribution makes a real difference. Head to SlowdownShow.org donate today to Power More Poems into the Future.
Podcast: The Slowdown: Poetry & Reflection Daily
Host: Maggie Smith
Episode: 1527: Native Grasses by Lynnell Edwards
Date: June 1, 2026
In this episode, host Maggie Smith uses the poem "Native Grasses" by Lynnell Edwards as a lens to reflect on the beauty and meaning we find in “nature treasures.” Maggie shares stories about her son's habit of collecting items from the natural world and considers how seemingly simple objects connect us to both wonder and the reality of life and death. The episode asks listeners to slow down, notice their surroundings, and find significance in both the living and the remnants of what once lived.
[01:05-02:36]
"As a little wink and a nod to his younger self, he still calls them nature treasures." (Maggie Smith, 01:53)
[02:36-02:58]
[02:58-03:29]
"It's easy to lump them in with stones and gloss over the fact that they were part of an animal... But bones? If you find bones, you're looking at part of a creature that is no longer living. Still, they're beautiful, at least to me. I don't find them morbid." (Maggie Smith, 03:16)
[03:31-04:36]
Maggie reads "Native Grasses," a poem that deftly blends beauty and decay through the discovery of an antler, the act of collecting, and the final image of a skull hung as a totem. The poem lists “finds” from a day, inviting listeners to consider how these objects become markers of attention, memory, and mortality.
"I hang in the bare branches of a hackberry tree, totem of dominion, the spine I let lie and damp native grasses." (Lynnell Edwards, read by Maggie Smith, 04:30)
This episode of "The Slowdown" invites listeners into the gentle, attentive space of poetry and memory, using everyday objects as portals into deeper reflection. Maggie Smith’s personal stories, paired with Lynnell Edwards’s evocative verse, offer a meditation on how we carry nature’s wonders—and reminders of mortality—through our days and homes.