Terry Tempest Williams, the naturalist and author long associated with the red rock desert of Utah, offers a work of narrative nonfiction about finding beauty and grace in a time of political fragility and climate upheaval. The book's title refers to what Williams calls the Glorians: not deities, but the ordinary, easily overlooked presences—an ant carrying a coyote willow blossom, the night sky, a passing animal or plant or memory—that reveal our shared vulnerability and our interconnectedness with the natural world. Attending to them, she argues, is a radical act, a way of carrying forward against long odds. Moving between the desert canyons of southern Utah during the pandemic and Harvard Divinity School, where she teaches, Williams weaves together personal reflection and observation of the living world. Rather than turning to despair over the unsettled state of the planet, she practices a discipline of attention, treating the close encounter between species as a source of courage and a model for imagining a more cohesive future. The result is part field guide, part spiritual meditation, and part testament to the power of witness. Williams writes in a lyrical, contemplative register that has defined her work since Refuge, her earlier book about family, loss, and the natural world. The Glorians extends that sensibility to the anxieties of the present moment, offering what she frames as sustenance for the mind and spirit—an invitation to engage more intentionally with one another and with the threatened world we share.