I love this poem - and it's so true! Sitting outside listening to the birds, the bugs, cuddling my fur babies and noticing my breath always brings me back to myself. Away from the noise that does its best to turn our lives upside down!
"Away from the noise that does its best to turn our lives upside down" -- Anna, I love how you put that. What powerful, poignant words that I know I'll be thinking about a lot this week.
Thank you so much for reading, I'm so happy Wendell's words resonated with you today 🤍
A perfect beginning indeed. This is a personal favorite, The Peace of wild Things reminds us when our bowl gets too heavy to bear, the wild things were always there to embrace us. Thank you!
"The wild things were always there to embrace us." I love that, Cynthia -- thank you so much for being here, and for sharing your own beautiful words with us ✨
Thank you so much, Marlee, and I'm especially glad to hear you loved the geese -- they're also a little nod to another classic poem we'll be ending the series with 😍
I returned from a trip to South Sudan with a skin infection that recurred regularly over the next several months. I remember living with it in Haiti. I remember living with it in La Paz, Bolivia, when Clinton bombed a pharmaceutical factory in Khartoum, next to our warehouse where we kept our well drilling equipment, and bricks from the factory fell on our building.
Then one Saturday morning, when we lived in Elkridge, MD, the infection erupted on my face. My wife called a friend to take come and convince me, actually drag me kicking and screaming, to nearby Johns-Hopkins Hospital. I was surprised when they admitted me but even more surprised when the nurse came to draw several blood samples. “This one is for an HIV test,” she said matter of factly as she filled the purple tube.
Those words stuck in my tired brain. I began to replay all the possible ways I could have been infected. There was the baby delivery on a blue tarp along the bushveld track in South Sudan. There were a couple of car accidents from which I helped extract the injured. (I lived in too many places where I was a “first responder,” or more likely, the only responder.) It left a coldness in me that wouldn’t go away.
I knew the course of the disease by heart. As the immune system becomes more compromised, all kinds of infections and illnesses that a healthy body can easily overcome become chronic and debilitating. As I tried to reassure myself on that hospital bed next to a window that faced a blank brick wall, my thoughts shifted away from purple sample tube and to my family, I felt heavy and sad. I would awake at all hours of the night at any small disturbance and worry about my family.
One evening, just before visiting hours were over, my family walked in. My daughter, who was eight at the time, handed me a crayon drawing she made for me with a quote from Thoreau about the song of the lark. It’s a drawing I still keep in a place of honor. They also brought me a couple of books, both by Wendell Berry, and when they left, I started reading. Almost immediately, I found The Peace of Wild Things and read it over and over until I fell asleep and stayed asleep.
The next morning, the fifth morning in that room with a window facing a blank brick wall, I summoned my courage when the nurse came in to ask her about the test results. “No one told you?” Soon, my doctor arrived with two of her colleagues and finally explained to me what they found. It was a common skin bacteria, but they couldn’t understand why it was so persistent.
“Could it be because of my travel schedule and constant jet lag?” I asked. No, two of the doctors said, almost reflexively. The young Indian doctor thought for a moment.
“That’s exactly why,” he said, “your immune system is as exhausted as you are. You must slow down.” The other two doctors looked at one another and agreed. I felt a great wave of relief. Then one of the doctors apologized for not getting back to me sooner with the tests results. “You should have just asked.”
Thanks for the Wendell Berry poem, but what struck me were the words "in fear of what my life and MY CHILDREN'S lives may be...", but no admonition to prevent the oncoming climate catastrophe we will bring to those children? At the current rate of global temperature increase, according to data from the gold standard "Copernicus Climate Change Service" (C3S), we are heating at the rate of 1 degC every 5 yrs., so any child unfortunate enough to be born today will get to celebrate (?) his/her 23rd BD when the planet's global ave. temp is 6 degC over the 1991-2020 baseline ave. They will be burning up and rue the day we just went down by the river and took a nap.
I haven’t read Wendell Berry before but have heard so many good things! Timing was perfect with this one. My 9-year old son came home from school yesterday and said to me he wanted to go outside and sit in the yard for a bit. He explained that the school day has so much pressure that he needed to wind down and that sitting in nature is so calming for him. I shared this post, and he now has a favorite poem. 💕
This is lovely and I made a late entry into last week's post for some words that I cherish. Perhaps you can consider whether or not to add mine to your wonderful collection.
This poem is a lifeline for me. I read it regularly and cry with relief, hope, and the reminder that there is more than meets the human eye working in our world.
I love this poem - and it's so true! Sitting outside listening to the birds, the bugs, cuddling my fur babies and noticing my breath always brings me back to myself. Away from the noise that does its best to turn our lives upside down!
"Away from the noise that does its best to turn our lives upside down" -- Anna, I love how you put that. What powerful, poignant words that I know I'll be thinking about a lot this week.
Thank you so much for reading, I'm so happy Wendell's words resonated with you today 🤍
I should have said that you also make it look beautiful! Such a gift!! xx
Ahh thank you! That's so kind of you to say 🙏✨
I JUST started reading his poetry collection earlier this month! It’s a great reminder that reconnection with nature is grounding.
No way! Love the synchronicity 💚✨
https://substack.com/@theflare/note/c-71190227?r=nnkuq&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action
I'm so happy to see this - it's the poem I wanted.
I'm so glad to hear that, Valerie -- it's a favorite of mine as well, and feels so timely for this season in the world 🤍
A perfect beginning indeed. This is a personal favorite, The Peace of wild Things reminds us when our bowl gets too heavy to bear, the wild things were always there to embrace us. Thank you!
"The wild things were always there to embrace us." I love that, Cynthia -- thank you so much for being here, and for sharing your own beautiful words with us ✨
Such lovely words and art to go with them. I especially love the geese in flight. I see them here in Michigan.
Thank you so much, Marlee, and I'm especially glad to hear you loved the geese -- they're also a little nod to another classic poem we'll be ending the series with 😍
I returned from a trip to South Sudan with a skin infection that recurred regularly over the next several months. I remember living with it in Haiti. I remember living with it in La Paz, Bolivia, when Clinton bombed a pharmaceutical factory in Khartoum, next to our warehouse where we kept our well drilling equipment, and bricks from the factory fell on our building.
Then one Saturday morning, when we lived in Elkridge, MD, the infection erupted on my face. My wife called a friend to take come and convince me, actually drag me kicking and screaming, to nearby Johns-Hopkins Hospital. I was surprised when they admitted me but even more surprised when the nurse came to draw several blood samples. “This one is for an HIV test,” she said matter of factly as she filled the purple tube.
Those words stuck in my tired brain. I began to replay all the possible ways I could have been infected. There was the baby delivery on a blue tarp along the bushveld track in South Sudan. There were a couple of car accidents from which I helped extract the injured. (I lived in too many places where I was a “first responder,” or more likely, the only responder.) It left a coldness in me that wouldn’t go away.
I knew the course of the disease by heart. As the immune system becomes more compromised, all kinds of infections and illnesses that a healthy body can easily overcome become chronic and debilitating. As I tried to reassure myself on that hospital bed next to a window that faced a blank brick wall, my thoughts shifted away from purple sample tube and to my family, I felt heavy and sad. I would awake at all hours of the night at any small disturbance and worry about my family.
One evening, just before visiting hours were over, my family walked in. My daughter, who was eight at the time, handed me a crayon drawing she made for me with a quote from Thoreau about the song of the lark. It’s a drawing I still keep in a place of honor. They also brought me a couple of books, both by Wendell Berry, and when they left, I started reading. Almost immediately, I found The Peace of Wild Things and read it over and over until I fell asleep and stayed asleep.
The next morning, the fifth morning in that room with a window facing a blank brick wall, I summoned my courage when the nurse came in to ask her about the test results. “No one told you?” Soon, my doctor arrived with two of her colleagues and finally explained to me what they found. It was a common skin bacteria, but they couldn’t understand why it was so persistent.
“Could it be because of my travel schedule and constant jet lag?” I asked. No, two of the doctors said, almost reflexively. The young Indian doctor thought for a moment.
“That’s exactly why,” he said, “your immune system is as exhausted as you are. You must slow down.” The other two doctors looked at one another and agreed. I felt a great wave of relief. Then one of the doctors apologized for not getting back to me sooner with the tests results. “You should have just asked.”
“I come into the presence of still waters
And I feel above me day-blind stars
Waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world
And am free.
Thanks for the Wendell Berry poem, but what struck me were the words "in fear of what my life and MY CHILDREN'S lives may be...", but no admonition to prevent the oncoming climate catastrophe we will bring to those children? At the current rate of global temperature increase, according to data from the gold standard "Copernicus Climate Change Service" (C3S), we are heating at the rate of 1 degC every 5 yrs., so any child unfortunate enough to be born today will get to celebrate (?) his/her 23rd BD when the planet's global ave. temp is 6 degC over the 1991-2020 baseline ave. They will be burning up and rue the day we just went down by the river and took a nap.
Filled me with a gush of peace. Holding this poem close to my heart. 🌻
Just divine 💕
Thank you for illustrating this! Your heron is just beautiful. ❤️
I haven’t read Wendell Berry before but have heard so many good things! Timing was perfect with this one. My 9-year old son came home from school yesterday and said to me he wanted to go outside and sit in the yard for a bit. He explained that the school day has so much pressure that he needed to wind down and that sitting in nature is so calming for him. I shared this post, and he now has a favorite poem. 💕
I’ve always loved this poem, and your illustration is so perfect! Oh, that heron!
This is lovely and I made a late entry into last week's post for some words that I cherish. Perhaps you can consider whether or not to add mine to your wonderful collection.
This poem is a lifeline for me. I read it regularly and cry with relief, hope, and the reminder that there is more than meets the human eye working in our world.
A poem that is always worth another read. Thank you for sharing it.
Lovely. ☮️