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| Wood Drake at the Bronx Zoo |
I seem to worry more than I used to. Does it come on stronger - this capacity for worry - as we age? That's counter-intuitive - we should have a more relaxed attitude and a little less to worry about, the older we get, no? Shouldn't the ability to say "I'm sure it will be fine" get easier?
Yesterday my friend Laura sent me this poem by Wendell Berry. It's a good poem for worriers. I'll save it for a rainy day or - much better - memorize it and say it each night, like a prayer.
The Peace of Wild Things
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.
- Wendell Berry
- Wendell Berry
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Today's Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted at Carol's Corner. Head over there to see what other people have posted.
