Monday, January 10, 2011

Grace

or Gurney Norman, quoting him
 
The woods is shining this morning.   
Red, gold and green, the leaves   
lie on the ground, or fall,
or hang full of light in the air still.   
Perfect in its rise and in its fall, it takes   
the place it has been coming to forever.   
It has not hastened here, or lagged.   
See how surely it has sought itself,
its roots passing lordly through the earth.   
See how without confusion it is   
all that it is, and how flawless   
its grace is. Running or walking, the way   
is the same. Be still. Be still.
“He moves your bones, and the way is clear.” 
 
-- Wendell Berry

1 comment:

legend in his own lunchtime said...

What a lovely poem. Going through the woods always makes me serene. Their stillness on a windless day, with only the rustle of small creatures, or the occasional creak of a bough is priceless