I don't know how I found Wendell Berry;one thing leads to another.Bumping into him, knowing his name but little else, then finding his poems has been providential.His words remind me how much I have missed my woods.Inertia, heat, busyness, exercise or other things have kept me from my dawdling time.The well of words has been dry and untended.
Mr. Berry is a devoted environmental activist; I am not.He farms in Kentucky and I cook vegan meals in Georgia but when the trees call, they call us both.My writing will never come close to his words but when he writes:"I go among the trees and sit still.All my stirrings become quiet...", he is singing my song.
Berry talks of Sabbath Walks and yesterday I took one, finally.Walking slowly back to my bench, I asked that my Creator walk with me.It seemed fitting to make that appointment.Crickets calling, leaves clicking as they were blown together and then silence.No creature moved until, under the Beech, a small raccoon eyed me.I have to smile at his face.The ones who live here are so used to me that they no longer scurry up the pines.He gazed a while and moved on.
Mr. Berry, I lift a kale smoothie to you and your words:
"Leave word and argument, be dark and still,
And come into the joy of healing shade.
Rest from your work.Be still and dark until
You grow as unopposing, unafraid
As the young trees, without thought or belief;
Until the shadow Sabbath light has made
Shudders, breaks open, shines in every leaf."