I rest in the grace of the world

 

 

The Peace of Wild Things

by Wendell Berry

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.

 

 

I was thinking of this poem when I picked my kids up from school and, uncharacteristically, drove us all to the park.

 

 

 

 

I'd been worn and weary...empty. Truth be told, it's been a trying week. One of those phases designed to keep me in my place as a mother, I suppose - humbled,  flexible, prayerful. This middle-aged dog is learning a bunch of new tricks, out of necessity. 

 

 

 

 

Anyhoo, I was  craving a change of scenery, and the feel of the sun on my shoulders. Visiting a nature preserve, where wild things grow, was not really an option so I compromised, making do with perky annuals and a spattering of grounded autumn leaves while my younger three kids played on the swings, the slide, the monkey bars, and while my oldest read.

 

 

 

 

I had my camera with me, of course, and for over an hour I walked slowly, aimlessly, from one end of the park to the other keeping my eye out for interesting images to capture. I spoke to no one. I let my mind clear. And the sun...oh, it did not disappoint. It was a gorgeous afternoon - gorgeously medicinal. 

 

 

 

No, my circumstances didn't change, but I somehow did - just a little, just enough. 

 

 

 

And now onward, ever onward, I go.