Finally will it not be enough, after much living, after much love, after much dying of those you have loved, to sit on the porch near sundown with your eyes simply open, watching the wind shape the clouds into the shapes of clouds? Even then you will remember this history of love, shaped in the shapes of flesh, everchanging as the clouds that pass, the blessed yearning of body for body, unending light. You will remember, watching the clouds, the future of love. – 1994, II (p. 177) (This Sunday series is inspired by Wendell Berry’s A Timbered Choir.) Continue reading A Timbered Choir | Fourth Sunday.
Another Sunday morning comes And I resume the standing Sabbath Of the woods, where the finest blooms Of time return, and where no path Is worn but wears its makers out At last, and disappears in leaves Of fallen seasons. The tracked rut Fills and levels; here nothing grieves In the risen season. Past life Lives in the living. Resurrection Is in the way each maple leaf Commemorates its kind, by connection Outreaching understanding. What rises Rises into comprehension And beyond. Even falling raises In praise of light. What is begun Is unfinished. And so the mind That comes to … Continue reading A Timbered Choir | Third Sunday.
Slowly, slowly, they return To the small woodland let alone: Great trees, outspreading and upright, Apostles of the living light. Patient as stars, they build in air Tier after tier a timbered choir, Stout beams upholding weightless grace Of song, a blessing on their place. They stand in waiting all around, Uprisings of their native ground, Downcomings of the distant light; They are the advent they await. Receiving sun and giving shade, Their life’s a benefaction made, And is a benediction said Over the living and the dead. In fall their brightened leaves, released, Fly down the wind, and we … Continue reading A Timbered Choir | Second Sunday.
A Timbered Choir is one of the two books of poetry I purchased while reading the last chapter of Barbara Brown Taylor’s wonderful An Altar in the World. It’s subtitled “The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997”. Most Sundays, my poetry is more likely to come from the Psalms, and I liked the idea of reading something contemporary. Even better if it’s focused on the outdoors and the peace and tranquility a quiet walk in the woods might provide. In his preface, Berry writes “These poems were written in silence, in solitude, mainly out of doors. A reader will like them best, I … Continue reading A Timbered Choir | First Sunday.
Hello friends and hello last Friday of February … I know this isn’t the case for many of y’all, but it feels like this month has flown by and ushered in early signs of spring. Thinking about … Wendell Berry. … Continue reading TGIF | Late February.
Yes, I’m still taking daily photos … and before we pass the mid-point of December, how about a look back at Fall. Summer lingered well into October (sandals on the 20th!) and Winter made a few brief appearances (Charlie’s hat and coat), but most of it is pure Fall: The arrival of little Sam on October 25th. Which means I’ve stayed home. No trips. My mom and Sara both traveled here over Thanksgiving, and I have proof of Mother’s visit (Hi! on the 28th) but not Sara’s… must do better when she’s here for Christmas! Charlie turned two back in … Continue reading Looking Back | Fall 2016.