In Writing

I thought of the piece I wrote the other day, the one about going to the woods and sitting on a rock to find peace, and then I came across this beautiful poem by Wendell Berry called The Peace of Wild Things. Oh, how I long to be a wild thing.

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in 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 with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
the peace of wild things
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