POETRY IS LIKE TAKING A DEEP BREATH

Monday, 1 November 2010

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS




When despair grows in me
and I wake in he middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.


Wendell Berry
Aug 5th 1934 -