Peace of wild things
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Southern Blend
John Rittmann
A poem by Wendell Berry:
“The Peace of Wild Things”
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.
Editor’s note: This week columnist John Rittmann wanted to share this poem and let it stand on its own. Next week he will write about its author, Wendell Berry.