I wrote a poem today.
As it brushes wistfully with deliberate chance through the follicles of the trees, the living air finds a brief opportunity to dance in my lungs and my blood sings and my feet leap.
That's what happens when I forget my head-phones on the way to work. My mind wanders, I check FB one or twice, and seeing no inspiring words, I add my own. That's not entirely true. I checked it about three times looking for inspriration, and after the third time, my mother-n-law, Mary posted this;
THE PEACE OF WILD THINGSWhen 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.
— Wendell Berry
In which I responded;
A symphonic arrangement of words that paints as a quilt the serene restlessness of a radiant spirit.