There are so many wars in our world today: the Russo-Ukrainian, Israel-Hamas (Gaza), Iran-Israel-Lebanon, the Syrian civil war, the Sudanese civil war and the Myanmar civil war, among many others. We read about the agonies of death, starvation, and destruction. We read daily about failed attempts at ceasefires and negotiations to end the fighting.

Iran’s chief negotiator in peace talks with Washington, Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf, perhaps explains these failures most graphically. He wrote in social media, “We prefer the language of diplomacy, but we speak other languages far more fluently. Break your commitments, and we’ll switch to what we speak best.” With these words, Ghalibaf invokes the dark side of human nature. Human beings have a long history of speaking the language of warfare. However, to be a human being also means possessing the apparently under-developed language of dialogue, understanding, persuasion and cooperation.

This past weekend, I had a reprieve from the news of war: three days with family, isolated in a Vermont state park cabin without TV, radio, internet connection or phones. Our world was the lake shore and the natural surroundings of flora and fauna. We became a living part of our surroundings. The news was delivered in the wind, the sun, the distant flashes of lightening and crashes of thunder, and the ensuing rain. There were the songs of birds and the wail, yodel and tremolo of the two loons across the lake. At one point they seemed to announce the two geese with four goslings that swam by. There was also the smoke, light and crackling of the evening campfire, and the aroma of barbecuing chicken and vegetables. There was the simple anticipation of the flavors of melted marshmallows and chocolate. Peace abound. The only discernible tension was over the life of five baby birds competing for space in a nest perched in the rafters of the porch — could the parents bring them enough food? And the newly feathered babies seemed conflicted over whether to hang onto the edges of the over-crowded nest or venture out on their newly formed wings.

We humans could have disrupted the symmetry of the natural environment that we were experiencing. But the silent language of the trees and plants growing together along the shoreline of the lake had welcomed us to be a part of their environment. And the birds of different species and song called us to listen to their chorus and invited us to sing along. The competition for space and nourishment among the many life forms was less of a conflict and more of a complexity of cooperation.

This wilderness experience has followed me home. I’m reminded of the Psalmist who pondered, “What are human beings that you are mindful of them?” As human beings who are running roughshod over the Earth with our wars and rumors, what may be our part in the creation? Maoz Inon wrote in “The Future is Peace” that Pope Francis has been quoted as saying, “Where there is life, there is tension and there is conflict.” However, he also said, “Our ability to solve conflict through dialogue is what makes us uniquely human.”

We have our state and national parks and forests to teach us the ways of dynamic cooperation. Humanity’s contribution is to give voice to the wisdom of wilderness; to hone the skills of dialogue and become fluent in the language of diplomacy. When war threatens, let diplomacy be the language we speak best.

John Buttrick writes from his Vermont Folk Rocker in his Concord home, Minds Crossing. He can be reached at johndbuttrick@gmail.com.