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 the 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.
This morning as I hear the gentle surf in Saint Maarten, I marvel at the events of my life that made this trip possible. I shared morning coffee with my mother-in-law before she headed out to mass. Church bells chime the call of the faithful, but for me, the surf is enough of a sermon today – the aqua-blue sea my holy water.
I will let the peaceful sounds and beautiful sights soothe away my worries about my children and the crossroads they are approaching. I will breathe deeply and push aside thoughts of the troubles of the world that have made me grateful I canceled my newspaper subscription. Any ruminations of past offenses I will bury with my feet in the sand.
Water is my religion’s symbol of divine renewal. Today, I am baptized in the peace of wild things.