Just a read quick read on a tiny little philosophy/prose thing I'm making for an English class. Any advice?

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Philosophies of the Common Fern

Very often, people are found walking among the plants and trees in one of the earth’s sanctuaries, often called a forest or wood.

In this isolated place, the quiet air is only disturbed by the gossip of bird or the sighing of the wind. Imperfections are disguised miracles; a rotting tree, a patch of weeds. Both, although unsightly, have an individual purpose that serves a unified whole.

Survival.

A simple concept that even most children understand. And yet we very seldom contemplate it in our daily lives. As humans with houses and grocery stores, there’s very little need to keep ourselves wondering about how to stay alive. But all the while, one of the most simple-minded organisms—plants—must work to stay on the right side of the line that defines them from the soil they grow on.

It is, indeed, a strange concept, life and death. That one is considered “dead” when any concept of a soul inhabiting it has gone, even though it is the soul itself that is dead, not the body. For even when “dead”, the body still supports life. Seeds of plants, moss and tiny animals the eye cannot see all live in this body, now pronounced “dead”.

Perhaps this is why forests are renowned as places of balance. Things take, and then return. There are no limits on who or what touches the dead; the carcass welcomes life to be sustained off of it. It is this cycle, this welcoming of life and parting of the dead that keeps this revered place flowing. But do not claim it holy; no, it is not. It is a place of relief, not of awe. A place of inspiration, not dedication. A place of safety, not of worship. Indeed, a place of inner peace.