Every autumn in the woods behind our house, the hickory nuts gather in abundance. And year after year, the hearts hidden inside these nuts—the inner sanctums—continue to capture my sense of wonder. These tiny, natural treasures delight me. But this season, they take on new meaning.
In a time when we can feel overwhelmed by all that’s going on in the world, these small wonders are a comforting reminder that there is compassion all around us and within us. In a season when so many are suffering, these gifts on the forest floor speak to me of micro acts of compassion.
The hickory tree made its offering of sustenance to the creatures below—squirrels, deer, raccoons, o’possums. What’s left behind in the nuts, the inner hearts, feels like an offering to me both in their beauty and symbolism. And as the hulls decompose, they nourish the soil and the tree. The cycle of compassion is completed and continues, guided by seasonal rhythms.
The hearts of these nuts remind me that my small offerings matter. The fresh water in the birdbath. The homemade nectar in the feeder for the migrating hummingbirds. The breath prayer as I turn off unnecessary lights at night—with hopes of helping migrant birds find their way home. The food and cleaning supplies we gathered to help western North Carolina in the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Helene.
Compassion embodies acts of service and spirit as we tenderly enter into another’s need or suffering. And there is expansiveness in our small offerings. Micro compassion is a remedy for overwhelm as we do our best to lighten the collective burden.
When your heart feels heavy, when your soul feels led, consider: What micro act of compassion can I extend to another being? What small offering can I make?
A prayer? A poem? A calm presence? Practical assistance?
It’s okay to choose small. It’s okay for your offering to be imperfect. Together our individual acts of micro compassion gather in abundance, like the hickory hearts on the forest floor.
