On a cold November morning, I find myself dreaming already of spring. Winter used to seem merely a nuisance but as I have gotten older it has turned more and more into a cross… one I very reluctantly bear.
Wendell Berry’s small poem “Woods” seems like the perfect tonic on a day like today. Berry’s poetry at its best bears witness to the three part relationship between Creator and creation and creature.
On this cold Thanksgiving morning, a poem about spring, and God’s wonderful and “wild blessings’ seems like a natural fit. Enjoy!
I part the out thrusting branches
and come in beneath
the blessed and the blessing trees.
Though I am silent
there is singing around me.
Though I am dark
there is vision around me.
Though I am heavy
there is flight around me.