The Peace of Wild Things

I started my 2016 with a walk up the frozen hill to our spiritual guide of sorts, this old oak. Even in the biting, bitter east wind ripping down out of Canada, through the Columbia Gorge now scratching at my cheeks, just being in the presence of the oak brings a much needed sense of warmth and inner peace. This spot has always provided a natural sanctuary for us when the world gets crazy, and I needed it today. Tom has a cold and didn't feel up to the walk, Kirb is too arthritic, so it was just me, my camera, the wind, and the old oak. 

The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry


When 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.