Custodian of the Woodland video blog 65. Kintsugi of the Wild: Healing, Scars & the Woodland Path

Hello, I’m Roly, one of the custodians of this beautiful woodland here in the heart of Derbyshire, and welcome to video blog number sixty-five. Today’s reflection began with a conversation I had recently with Sheila in the States, who introduced me to something that’s stayed with me ever since: Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold.

At its core, Kintsugi isn’t just a technique; it’s a philosophy—an embrace of transformation through imperfection. It teaches us that the cracks, breaks, and scars we carry in life aren’t mistakes to conceal, but moments of truth to honour. Instead of hiding what has been damaged, Kintsugi highlights it with shimmering seams of gold, making the object more precious because of what it has endured, not despite it.

As I’ve wandered through the woodland with that idea in mind, I’ve begun to notice just how deeply the forest already understands this way of being. The woodland carries its scars quietly, never ashamed of them. A fallen branch resting on damp leaves. A gouge in a tree where weather or time has left its mark. A patch of bare earth where something once stood tall. These are not signs of ruin; they are chapters in the forest’s story, each one part of an ongoing cycle of breaking, mending, becoming.

Where Kintsugi uses gold lacquer, the woodland uses sunlight. A cracked limb becomes the perfect place for moss to take hold, glowing emerald after rain. A fallen oak decays into rich soil, feeding the seedlings that will rise in its place. A storm-broken canopy opens just enough space for a shaft of golden light to pierce through and spark a burst of new growth. This forest, with all its imperfections, is constantly repairing itself in ways both gentle and profound.

And when I walk here, I realise how much this mirrors our own lives. We all carry cracks—losses, mistakes, moments of breaking—but like the trees, we have the capacity to mend, not by undoing what happened, but by turning it into something meaningful, something luminous. The forest doesn’t hide its scars; it transforms them, and in doing so, it teaches us that healing is not the restoration of what was, but the creation of what can be.

Imagine if every act of care we give to the woodland—the planting of a sapling, the clearing of a path, the soft beat of a drum under the night sky- was a seam of gold in its story. Every footstep, every breath, every small moment of tending becomes a line in the Kintsugi of this living place. We become the lacquer, the repairers, adding golden threads of intention and gratitude.

And in return, the woodland becomes a mirror. Its scars reflect our own, showing us that being broken doesn’t mean being finished. It means being ready to transform. Ready to glow. Ready to grow.

So as I stand here among the whispering branches, I am reminded once again that the forest breaks, and the forest mends, and so do we. In these quiet, shimmering seams of sunlight, bark, and time, I see not ruin, but renewal. This place is a living reminder that we are not defined by what has fractured, but by how we choose to illuminate it.

This is the Kintsugi of the Wild.