The Day Turns, The Trees Move

My mother (wonderful lady that she is) reads my blog. I’m cool with that. She also blogs, kind of, but it’s an email-blog, for lack of a better name (one of these days I’ll convince her to start a “real” blog!). She semi-regularly sends out thoughts, inspirational quotes, and reflections on the issues of the day, and these are often very nice. I know what you’re thinking: “Oh, my grandma does that too, and it’s really annoying!” Well, this is different. These aren’t your usual chain letters and diatribes against immigrants in the name of patriotism. She hand picks these from the reading she does throughout the week - some as part of her studies as spiritual counselor for the Nathan Adelson Hospice in Nevada, and some, I imagine, for the sermons she delivers at St. Martin’s in the Desert Episcopal Church.

If nothing else, these words offer a glimmer of hope, a tiny moment of peace, and a bit of much-needed perspective and patience. Sometimes they’re beautiful. Sometimes moving.

This is what she sent out this morning:

From Wendell Berry (American naturalist and essayist) in A Timbered Choir


I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.