THE WALKING FOREST on A La Luz
I truly couldn’t be more proud to have this piece out in the world. Such a pleasure and honor to collaborate with the talented and generous A La Luz, again. And to be able to share the beautiful story of Carnival of Satriano di Lucania, The Walking Forest: Where Trees Become Men and Men Become Trees. Thank you to Rocco Perrone, festival guardian & fact checker, to all the talented photographers featured, and to the citizens of Satriano di Lucania. We have seen you. We have heard you.
As the brilliant Rebecca Solnit wrote: "behind that rage is care… you are angry the children are being bombed or the forest is being cleared because you care about them, so it’s not the feelings about the forces of destruction that is primary. It’s the love, and not losing sight of that is crucial…”
And love is precisely why I wrote this piece.
Stumbling upon the image of a tree, walking casually through a tiny rural village in southern Italy, caught my attention while I was scrolling Instagram, during a bout of writer procrastination, in the midst of back-to-back story deadlines. It was then and there I began learning about the village of Satriano di Lucania and their mystical turned ecological ancient Carnival Ritual of The Walking Forest. Where and when the trees leave Bosco Spera, a forest aptly named Hope, on foot, leading a great, green procession into town—a silent, but powerful environmental art piece, a protest of rustling leaves, catalysed into an enduring ecological movement by Satriano di Lucania’s youngest generations. The Young Are At The Gates.
I sent A La Luz this magical image of a tree strolling down the street, and they asked if I’d be interested in writing an article about this quietly powerful piece of environmental protest art which embodies so many moving elements—ecological-focused art, community, and the significant power of small acts influencing the collective whole. I immediately said yes.
There were so many reasons to say yes. I am an American writer living in Italy who has written about the resounding cultural impact of tiny rural Italian villages. I have also written about and helped to create environmental land art, most entirely focused on an obsessive fondness for trees (and recently exhibited in Points of Return). Exploring art as a supplemental tool to inspire environmental citizenry and asking the question: how do we help to create an emotional connection to the human impact environmental data available to us? And then, how do we convert feeling into action?
I am also a concerned citizen and witness to what is currently happening in my home-country regarding environmental protections, regulations, and rhetoric. Watching and reading, in shock, outrage, and despair, as government websites associated with the environment, ecology, sustainability, and years of documented science and research are being dismantled, erased, and wiped clean. Culture, fact, and reason—strip searched and demeaned. Often the institutional intention of instilling shock and fear is to create a feeling of ineptitude and paralysis. When you feel like your actions won’t matter, you are less likely to act.
And to be honest, when I began writing this environmental-art-themed piece, I felt absolutely paralysed. As though somehow, the words from within my own being, were also being scraped, smothered, and replaced with the demoralising refrain: but it won’t matter & it won’t do any good. At its most noble, I believe art aspires to give the tools for how to listen and how to see things that may normally go unnoticed. To be heard and seen is profound. Things are less easily dismissed or destroyed when they are no longer abstract.
“Good place-language, well used, opens onto mystery, grows knowledge, and summons wonder. And in the absence of an exact and detail-giving lexis, the living world can blur into a generalized wash of green, becoming an easily disposable backdrop… and as such, more exploitable…
Having such language available to us is vital because it encourages the kinds of allegiance and intimacy with one’s places that might also go by the name of love, and out of which might arise care, grace, and good sense…”
— Robert Macfarlane on Barry Lopez
When language is under assault—being swiftly removed, banned, or red flagged—words can become a protest. Words can repair and rebuild. Telling stories, beyond being my work, becomes a form of resilience, defiance, and vital, life-affirming record keeping. Once we know the stories, we become more than mere spectators. We become fellow custodians, these stories become ours to love, to carry, to protect, and to share.
This is also where ancient cultural rituals come in very handy. A helpful antidote to paralysis is to refer to that which has been repeated for thousands of years and therefore, boldly implies that there will exist a future, whereby it can, and will, keep infinitely repeating. Satriano di Lucania exemplifies and embodies this form of radical hope. The science of resilience tells us that another helpful action is to lean on community. So, I am going to conjure the words of wise souls who’ve managed to evade creative paralysis, those brilliant mark makers who keep me inspired, informed, and tethered to hope on days when I cannot find my own. Hope and progress of any kind may very well be a marathon, a long road demanding our stamina, but it is important to remember they are only truly sustainable when we engage with them as a relay. We are each a part of an inseparable, earthly whole.
Now, let us go to the trees and to the alchemical environmental art piece, Carnival of Satriano di Lucania, The Walking Forest. The trees have stories to tell, and the youth are urging us to listen.
Resources
Inspiring & informative reading materials for combatting those moments of citizenry despondency & paralysis:
Become a Walking Tree in the Next Carnival of Satriano di Lucania
What’s the Best Thing I can do for the Planet?
What Can I Do About the Climate Emergency by Rebecca Solnit
Geography as Generosity: an Afternoon with Barry Lopez by Robert Macfarlane
What we owe our Trees by Jill Lepore
Night of the Gingko by Oliver Sacks
What do the Protectors of the Congo’s Peatlands get in Return? by Ruth Maclean
Barry Lopez and ‘The Tree’ by Caitlin Roper
A Day in the Life of a Tree by M.R. O’Connor
Dead Stars by Ada Limón
Let Them Not Say by Jane Hirshfield
Authors to explore:
Katie Holten
Barry Lopez
Robert Macfarlane
Richard Powers
Terry Tempest Williams
Peter Wohllben
Text © Emilie Miller, 2025; Published by A La Luz, 2025 | Images used with permission | Please do not copy or download any of the content on this page without written consent